


Tapestry

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Fills plot hole(s), Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Fourth Age, General, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Joy, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Well-handled dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2003-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring.  Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs.  More about characters than plot, but things will move along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House of Telcontar

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

"Eldarion! Catch up!"

"If you would ride at a decent pace, Mírra, then I would!"

The King and Queen's two oldest children were enjoying a familiar ride around the outskirts of Minas Tirith. Today, as often happened, the prince found his sister was more interested in racing than anything else.

"This is nothing!" Mírra called back over her shoulder, "I thought a future King would be able to match it!"

Even though she teased her brother, she slowed to a trot and waited for him to approach. She had to admit she was breathing hard – it was not easy to maintain such speed. But the feel of the wind on her face was too irresistible.

As she caught her breath, she took a moment to enjoy the brightness of the fall day. The early afternoon sun was still high over the horizon, warming the cloudless sky. There were a scant few patches of green left in the surrounding foliage, the remainder having burst forward into fiery colour.

"I think you go out of your way to choose the fastest horse in the stable," Eldarion said dryly as he appeared at his sister's side.

"Not quite," she replied, just as dryly, "the fastest horses are reserved for father's men."

They now rode at a comfortable pace, enjoying the light conversation.

Both were well into their teenage years, and were happy to stretch the bounds of freedom that went with them. It was good to be able to set their own course for their rides, even if it meant staying within reach of the city.

"Besides, you never seem to vie for the fast horses," she added, "does a little excitement never interest you?"

Eldarion shrugged. He sat easily in the saddle, gripping the reins loosely in his palms.

"I enjoy riding for what it is. It need not always be a race, as you seem to want to make of it."

"You say that because you have travelled," Mírra replied, "I've hardly seen the far side of Mount Mindolluin. And you're only two years older than I am."

"Two and a half," Eldarion responded, straightening his broad shoulders, "And that was only to Ithilien, with father this spring."

Mírra was only slightly assuaged.

"But you have been on other journeys as well. And you know it is only a matter of time before father takes you to Edoras, and takes you into battle, even."

Eldarion simply looked down at the reins. He felt a little awkward about the extra independence that he was allowed because of his title. But then, his sister would never be concerned with the duties that went with the prospect of the throne. She would not have to spend all her afternoons in the study, memorising maps and poring over journals.

"Well, I will go to Ithilien as well, when I reach seventeen years," Mírra continued, "Perhaps even farther."

"That bodes well, for at your speed I'm sure you could make it all the way to Arnor overnight," Eldarion countered.

His sister smirked back at him. She also straightened herself in her saddle.

"Nana enjoys a brisk ride as well, you know. When she is up and around again, perhaps she will join me."

The Queen had been abed for the last week, expecting the birth of her fourth child. Mírra was excited about the prospect of a new sibling, but as usual Eldarion was more pragmatic.

"What do you think, will it be a boy or girl?" Mírra asked.

Eldarion shrugged once again.

"I gave up on the prospect of a brother years ago. And I have two sisters already, so I cannot see how a third would be different," he said simply.

"Can you never state a preference?"

"I try to cultivate diplomacy whenever possible," he grinned.

He then changed the subject. "But to be honest, what I would prefer now is to return for a meal. Are you not hungry?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right," his sister admitted.

There was a sudden twinkle in her dark grey eyes.

"I'll race you back."

Eldarion's shoulders sank in exasperation.

"No Mírra, wait…"

But she was already off on her horse, the long braid of her dark hair bouncing across her back as she gathered speed.

"You always have a head start," he muttered, shaking his head.

***

When Eldarion returned to the stables, he found that his sister, having naturally arrived first, had already unsaddled her horse and had started to brush its mane. There were of course many stable hands who could manage the horses for them, but they both enjoyed caring for the animals, which was also encouraged by their parents.

"Father will ask you to change, you do realise that," Eldarion told his oldest sister as he dismounted.

Mírra looked down at her riding habit, suede breeches and tunic. It was what she always preferred to ride in, and even though she was now fifteen she saw no reason to give it up.

"Maybe not," she replied, but without conviction.

Eldarion did not press the issue. He put away his riding tack, took up a brush of his own, and started working.

A few minutes later, Mírra was gathering fresh hay for her mount, when an unexpected visitor arrived.

"I thought I would find you two here," said the King, smiling.

Two similar pairs of eyes and two dark haired heads turned his way, looking over the horses.

"Father!" his oldest daughter said brightly as she unloaded her armful of hay, "What are you doing down here?" A sudden thought crossed her mind. "Is it mother?"

"No, no, she is still resting," Aragorn assured her, "Nothing yet. I was meeting with visitors earlier and thought I would see if you two were here. I think when you return to the palace you'll find your afternoon meal is waiting for you."

"Will you be joining us?" asked Eldarion.

"Not today." Why did he seem to be rushing around this past week? Arwen always seemed to find time for everything. "But I will see you for supper."

Aragorn did not leave immediately. He helped Mírra collect more hay, reminded Eldarion how to inspect the hooves for stones.

"Mírra, after you take your meal you should change, please", Aragorn said upon noticing his daughter's appearance. "You know that is not proper attire."

She opened her mouth as if to object, but thought better of it. She shot a thin glare at her brother, who had taken a sudden interest in a knot in his horse's mane.

"But it is so uncomfortable to ride in a dress," she protested weakly, knowing full well this was an argument she would not win. She looked down guiltily at her rumpled tunic, brushing fragments of hay off her arms.

"Mírra, you are not a child anymore," Aragorn admonished gently, "You should dress as befits your station."

"I know – properly." She sighed. Her shoulders sank a little.

"Thank you," her father replied, again gently.

He surveyed the stables for a moment, and the work his two older children had done. He was pleased to see them take care in their activities. And although he was often stricter with Mírra, Aragorn had to admit she had an enthusiasm for the outdoors. He did not want to discourage it.

"Things look well here," the King said contentedly as he left "I will see you for supper as usual. And Eldarion, I'll see you later in my study."

"Of course, father."

"And what will today's lesson be?" Mírra teased, after her father was out of earshot.

Eldarion did not answer right away. "Something dull and of great worth for my future, no doubt."

Mírra smiled hesitantly, not entirely sure if her brother was jesting. The walk back to the palace was quiet, both siblings looking cheerlessly to their afternoon tasks.

***

When she returned to her chambers, Mírra's handmaid selected a gown for her – dark green, plain – and helped her dress.

It hardly mattered to Mírra what she wore. But her riding clothes were so much simpler. With her breeches and tunic there were no hooks or laces to fuss over, no worrying whether the neckline was high or low enough, no concern over how well the colour matched her eyes. But then, appearances were important for a young woman of the court.

After all the hooks were fastened and the skirts of the dark green fabric were arranged, she paused to take a look at herself in the mirror. Mírra wondered if her appearance would ever pass muster.

Her father had said she was not a child anymore. But not a woman yet either, she sighed, pondering her reflection.

She had grown two more inches since the winter, but the added height did not make her feel elegant, only more awkward. Her breasts had grown fuller, too. She supposed they were of adequate size, but she was still not quite comfortable with them.

She looked with disappointment at her hair. There was hardly any curl in it, always laying flat. And why did it never seem to stay neat? It had been so nicely braided into a queue this morning but, as usual, some strands at the side of her face had slipped out. And was that a bit of hay she saw clinging to her hairline?

Women in the city remarked how she favoured the Queen more than the King, but Mírra could not see how she would ever match her mother's beauty. Looking back at herself from the mirror, she just seemed… plain.

Sitting down heavily in front of her dressing table, she untied her long braid, and loosed the dark locks. She took up a comb and began to work through her hair from root to tip, hoping for once to make it tidy.

***

Later that afternoon, the King and his son were settled in his study, with many manuscripts on the table in front of them, when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Aragorn called.

He was moderately surprised to see his youngest child, Lúthea, being shyly led into the room by her nursemaid, Adina.

"Pardon, your highness," said the blonde young woman, giving a small curtsy, "Miss Lúthea wanted a visit with you."

Aragorn set down his pen, smiling, as his daughter released her maid's hand and ran over to his chair.

Lúthea was ten years old, just entering her last years of childhood. Like Mírra she took after Arwen and had smooth dark hair and pale skin, but her features were more delicate, and she was much more reserved than her older sister. But although she was quite good-natured, Aragorn could not help thinking that Lúthea was not yet ready to give up being the youngest in the family.

"Well now," said Aragorn, "what brings you here, my dear?"

The little girl rested her folded arms on the arm of her father's large chair, leaning on it almost distractedly.

"Is something on your mind?" he added.

"When will the baby be here?" she asked, looking down at her arms.

"Very soon, so your mother tells me. Any day now."

She paused for a moment. Aragorn remained quiet, sensing she had more to say.

"We were working on something together," she continued, looking up at her father, "a shawl. It's not finished yet."

So that was it. Lúthea often spent long afternoons with her mother in front of the looms and spinning machines, working on generally any craft she could get her hands on. But that had all been on hold for the last week, and now she was at loose ends.

"Ah. And Adina can't help you to finish?" Aragorn ventured.

"No, it's for mother and I to do. She was going to show me how to do a border when it was done."

"I see."

Aragorn began to wonder what he should do next. Lúthea was now frowning and beginning to look unhappy. Her nursemaid stood at the door, waiting patiently. He wondered how many activities they had already been through before arriving at this point.

He unfolded his daughter's small hands and took them in his own.

"Well, somehow I do not think my talents at the loom would be of any use to you."

Lúthea did not smile but she was no longer frowning.

"Would you like to spend the rest of the day with me?"

He had expected her to accept his offer only as a last resort, but to his surprise her face brightened.

"Alright," she said tentatively.

Aragorn nodded to her nursemaid at the door. "Thank you Adina."

"Very good, your highness." The young woman gave a small curtsy and a smile, and slipped out.

"Would you like to sit here?" he asked.

Lúthea nodded. She let her father lift her onto his lap – something she was getting a little big for, but the chair was large.

She put her hands at the edge of the table and quietly looked around, taking in the papers and books. This was a strange new world, her father and brother's work.

Eldarion looked up from his manuscript, a bemused by his little sister's presence.

"I am reading up on the tributaries of the Anduin. Apparently there are many of them," he explained somewhat dryly, with a sidelong glance at his father. "But I don't know if you would be interested in that."

Lúthea looked wary, not sure what to think. Was this what they really did all day? Sit at a table and read?

Aragorn had an inspired thought, and reached for blank paper and a smaller pen.

"I've written many letters this afternoon. Would you like to try one?"

"I've been practising," Lúthea said, turning to look up at her father.

"Well then, I would enjoy seeing what you've learned," Aragorn said.

Gently she took the small quill from his hand, reached out, and very carefully dipped the end of the pen in the inkwell. She tapped the tip several times on the edge of the inkwell before bringing it to the paper.

Slowly, and as neatly as possible, she wrote the first letter of the alphabet, first in upper then in lower case. Looking back up as if for approval, she smiled when her father nodded to her. Having made a start, she carefully dipped her pen once more.

Eldarion chuckled quietly to himself, turning back to his readings. Lúthea bent over her paper, and set herself to her new task as her father observed contentedly.

***

It was much later that evening when Aragorn slipped away to a certain quiet room in the same wing as the family rooms. Supper was long over, and the children had all made their way to bed.

Softly he closed the door behind him, and stepped lightly over to the bed, where his wife lay comfortably. She lay half on her side with pillows arranged behind her, and another she held at her side to support her body. Her eyes were closed, her breathing calm and deep.

Arwen had withdrawn from palace activities many days ago, when she felt the time drawing near, felt she could grow no larger. She was happy to be so completely relaxed, to be able to focus her thoughts entirely on the child within.

The recent days had been a time of mixed emotions for Arwen, more than the times before her three other children were born. This pregnancy had been unexpected, and she had enjoyed all the experiences it brought. Although her body was becoming ever more uncomfortable, some part of her wished this time would not end yet.

As Aragorn sat down gently beside her, Arwen felt his presence but did not stir. She did not react until he leaned over and placed a kiss beside her ear, and then a broad smile crept across her face.

"I wondered when you would come," she said warmly, her eyes still closed.

Aragorn reached out to where his wife's hand was comfortably resting on her stomach, and put his hand over hers.

"How are things here?"

"Just as they should be."

As Arwen answered she slipped her hand out from underneath his, and exchanged places with it. She pressed his hand lightly against her belly, letting him sense the activity beneath the surface.

These last few days had been mixed for Aragorn as well. Although he was also excited about the upcoming birth, he never tired of moments like this.

They sat together calmly for a few minutes. Then Arwen's eyelids fluttered and she looked up at her husband sitting beside her.

"Tell me about today."

This was a habit of theirs, sharing the events of their days apart. Aragorn collected his thoughts and then began recounting the facts of his day, giving special attention to the activities with their children.

"I think Mírra would be truly happy if she could spend the whole day with the horses, and dress however she saw fit," he sighed, leaning back on the bed next to Arwen.

"Are you not pleased she enjoys the outdoors so well?"

"Of course, it is just… it always seems to be difficult with her, more than with Eldarion and Lúthea."

"She is more energetic," Arwen reasoned. "But she is still finding her way. Give her time."

Aragorn then went on to describe his hours with their second daughter in his study.

"Ah," Arwen said knowingly, "now I understand those."

She nodded to a few folded papers that lay on the bedside table. Aragorn saw where she was gesturing to, and collected the papers. He smiled as he unfolded them and saw the pages filled with Lúthea's careful scroll. Aside from her alphabet she had written a short note for her mother, which she had delivered personally before going to bed.

"We were just in the middle of a project," Arwen sighed, "I had not realised she would be so taken up with it."

"I am not sure how well she enjoyed the day. She prefers your company," said Aragorn as he met his wife's eye.

"That does not mean she does not enjoy yours."

"Maybe so, but I cannot show her crafts as you do. It is plain she is looking for other activities. How shall I entertain her tomorrow?"

Arwen thought for a moment.

"When we work I always share stories with her. I truly think she enjoys it as much as the weaving, or anything else."

"Somehow I doubt that hearing a story from me would be enough to content her," Aragorn said with a raised eyebrow.

"Do not tell me that the King of the West, who was once a Ranger called Strider, does not have any interesting stories to tell," she replied, nudging her husband's arm.

Aragorn simply smiled, tight-lipped, in return, not wanting to admit that his wife was, of course, right. He would give the idea some thought.

For now, he settled in next to her, returning his hand to its previous spot at the side of her belly. Arwen could see him concentrating, thinking carefully, as she had, on the life within.

"You shall have to wait, just as I will, to find out," she whispered to him.

Aragorn again met her eye. "You must have your own suspicions."

She did have her own suspicions about whether they would soon have a new son or daughter, but she did not reveal them. Arwen merely smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. She gave his hand a squeeze.

"You will not have to wait long."  



	2. Discoveries and Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

After discussing Lúthea's activities with Arwen, Aragorn gave much thought to the matter, and an idea came to him of something that she would enjoy. The next day, following his business of the morning, he decided to meet with his younger daughter.

Aragorn had not often been seen in the children's wing in recent years, now that they were grown older. So when Adina looked to the door of the children's sitting room and saw the King standing before her, she was more than a little surprised.

"Your highness… it is a pleasure to see you here," she flustered, as she stood from the table where she and Lúthea were sitting.

"I hope I am not interrupting," said Aragorn as he approached.

Lúthea hopped off her chair and went to him, clutching a piece of cloth encased in a wooden hoop.

"We're stitching," she explained, holding out her work to him, "I've just learned how to do the flowers."

Aragorn took the cloth from her and ran his hand over the coloured threads. Lúthea had done a small chain of flowers linked with a green vine. It was simple, but as with anything she applied herself to, neatly and carefully done.

"It looks lovely."

He returned it to his daughter's hands. She smiled down at the cloth, pleased with his appraisal.

"I was wondering – if Adina does not mind, that is," Aragorn continued with a nod to young woman who stood near, "what you would think about spending the day with me again today?"

Lúthea looked up at him with her usual calm expression.

"Will we do more writing?"

"No… I was thinking of something else," he replied, folding his hands in front of him. "Your mother tells me how much you enjoy listening to stories. Is that right?"

She stood up taller and nodded intently.

"Well, I thought we might go somewhere where we could discover many stories, ones you have not heard before."

Lúthea's interest was certainly piqued.

"Shall we try it?" her father asked.

"I would like that," she replied, her dark eyes shining.

Aragorn turned to his daughter's companion.

"Is that well with you, Adina?"

What could she say? As she gave a short curtsy to the King, she could not help smiling.

"That is very well, your highness. I will be here, should you wish to send for me."

"Excellent," he said brightly. "Shall we go, my dear?"

He extended a palm. She handed her stitching to Adina, and then returned to her father, taking his hand.

They left the sitting room and began to make their way through the corridors of the palace. Lúthea, small for her age, came to just above Aragorn's elbow as she walked beside him. Her shining dark hair, loose except for two small braids at the sides, hung down her back.

As she looked around, she soon realised she was coming to a section of the palace that was unfamiliar to her.

"Where are we going?" she asked curiously.

"To the library."

***

The same morning, Arwen sat by the widow of her chamber, calmly waiting, thinking. The heel of her left foot rose and fell with a slow cadence as her chair rocked back and forth.

She had a book open on her lap, but was only half concentrating on it. As she stroked a hand lazily across her belly, she could sense a gradual, growing tightness, which was a sign of things to come. There had been moments in the early hours of the morning when she had thought that labour had begun, but had been disappointed.

And so she was pleased to have a distraction from the morning's expectation when her oldest daughter entered. Mírra came over to the window and greeted her mother.

"It still isn't time?"

"No, and I am quite impatient." Arwen smiled and briefly rolled her eyes in a gesture of exasperation that was only half in jest.

Mírra touched her round middle, intensely curious. "Will it take very long?"

"I cannot tell," Arwen shrugged slightly, "Each of you were different, but I was the longest with your brother. The women here like to joke that it was because he was a boy, not because he was my first."

Mírra grinned.

"I had thought you would be outside this morning," Arwen said inquisitively.

"No. Eldarion is practising his swordplay. I didn't feel like going out." Mírra stepped over to the window as she answered.

"That is not like you. Especially on such a fine day as today." It seemed that Lúthea was not the only one who was feeling disconcerted.

Mírra put her slim hands on the window ledge, looking out at the landscape surrounding Minas Tirith.

"But I know all of it," Mírra said wistfully, "Every ride is just another part of the same countryside." She turned towards her mother, half-leaning against the large chair. "I wish I could see more, go farther."

"You will, certainly. But you have only turned fifteen a few months ago." When Arwen was fifteen she would never have dreamed of venturing beyond Rivendell, even to the Bruinen. She found she was constantly shifting her perspective of things to match her children's. "There will be time for you to travel, darling. Be patient."

Her daughter nodded, quietly fidgeting. Arwen decided to move to a simpler topic of conversation.

"You've done nothing with your hair today?"

Mírra brushed aside her mother's fingers that were stretching to her long, loose hair.

"What ever I do, it never stays neat. This way is just easier."

"Shall I try something with it?" Arwen offered.

Mírra accepted. She knelt down with her back to the chair, and let her mother run her hands through her hair.

Arwen sat up and leaned forward as best she could. As she shifted her position, she felt a tug across her belly – not quite painful, but still noticeable. She paused briefly, but it passed as soon as it had begun. She did not dwell on it, and instead turned to the weaving of hair at her fingertips.

It had been months since Arwen had done this. Making the small braids felt familiar, almost soothing. She began to work a few small ones at Mírra's hairline, twining each new one together with the last.

"Why so quiet, all of a sudden?" Arwen asked her daughter.

Mírra did not respond immediately.

"I'm not… very good at these things," she eventually told the floor. "I can never make my hair look right. I don't know the right clothes to wear."

"I know you've never been terribly interested in those things."

She pulled the braids at each side together at the back of Mírra's head, forming a thin queue.

"But now they matter, and I wish they didn't. Father is always saying I should dress properly, that I'm not a child."

"Which is true. Soon you will be introduced into the court, and unfortunately you cannot do that if you are still pulling hay out of your hair," Arwen answered pragmatically. She tucked in the last few pieces of hair, and smoothed her hand over the finished braids.

"I know." Mírra sighed deeply, and scratched distractedly at a loose thread on her skirt. "I still wish I didn't have to worry about it. The women at court are so beautiful. So poised."

"That is because they are well practised. You can learn, too."

"I do not think I will ever look the part, like they do."

Mírra turned and cast slightly discouraged eyes up at her mother. Arwen tucked a bit of hair behind her daughter's ear.

"They look the part because they have help with their appearance, as you will. But your hair, your dresses, those things are only that – your appearance. They do not change who you are. Neither do they shape the woman you will become," Arwen continued. "You will still be beautiful even if your dress is not perfect, even if your hair is not neatly braided."

Mírra smiled lightly. Arwen continued to stroke her fingers over her daughter's dark hair.

"Who you are is beautiful. Do not doubt that."

Mírra smiled and blushed, shyly turning her eyes down again. She reached up and gingerly patted the handiwork that was completed in her hair.

"Thank you, naneth." she told her, even though it was not needed.

Arwen smiled back. She opened her mouth to reply, but once again was caught by surprise as she felt another tug over her stomach, stronger than the last. She put her hand to her stomach, realising with a sudden certainty that labour was becoming real.

Mírra saw her mother's response. "Is it starting?" she asked, her eyes widening in excitement.

"I think it may be."

"Shall I send for the midwife?" Mírra was at her feet in an instant.

"No, not just yet," Arwen reassured her, "Stay with me a while. I am enjoying your company."

She smiled in return. "I would like to stay with you too."

Arwen held her hands out to call her daughter to her again.

"I have been sitting all morning. Come, will you help me to walk about for a while?"

Mírra did so, her expression bright but slightly nervous. She gave her mother her elbow as they began to take a turn about the room.

***

Aragorn opened the large oak door, and led his daughter into the foyer at the centre of the library. The floor was a sandy marble; lanterns, that were carefully placed on the walls and hung from the ceiling, lit the room. This area was well looked after by attendants, who nodded respectfully as the King entered.

Aragorn took Lúthea to the centre of the great room, and they stood surrounded on all sides by shelf after shelf of books. There were books of all different sizes and bindings. Some of the bookcases stretched all the way up the side of the walls, and required ladders to reach the higher shelves. This central chamber where they stood was bordered by smaller rooms, which had their own specific collections.

Lúthea's dark grey eyes widened as took in what she saw before her, craning her neck to look up at the tall bookcases. If the simple reading materials she had seen yesterday in her father's study had seemed like a new world to her, then this was an uncharted universe.

Aragorn looked down at his daughter, impressed by her quiet wonder.

"This is the library. It has been here for the life of Minas Tirith, and it contains the collected writings of many scribes and scholars. There are maps and drawings, journals and record books, and most importantly, histories of our country and all peoples of Middle-Earth."

Aragorn saw his daughter's eyes glazing over, obviously overwhelmed.

"I think those are what you will be most interested in. We are here to find stories, are we not?"

Lúthea nodded, coming out of her daze somewhat.

"But ada, how will we know where to start? There are so many."

"They are arranged in a certain way. Come, let us see what we can find."

***

"You seem slow today, Eldarion. Is that blade too heavy for you?"

The prince, sword in hand, faced his adversary who was grinning cheekily before him. Brennan was a close advisor of the King and, in recent years, erstwhile companion and mentor to the prince and princess royal. With his reddish brown hair, brown eyes, and moderate stature, he was unremarkable in appearance, but he was as trustworthy as any man of Gondor.

"Not at all," Eldarion replied. "If there is any deficiency with my performance, perhaps the fault is with my opponent, not my weapon."

"Aha. Think you so, young master?"

Brennan cocked an eyebrow at his young charge. Eldarion's fighting abilities had certainly improved with his physical maturity, but he had not abandoned boyish jests.

"Well then, I would not have you hold back on my account," Brennan countered. "Let me see what you have to offer me today."

Over recent months the prince had grown noticeably stronger, his body now bearing an even closer resemblance to the lean, broad-shouldered frame of his father. He shook dark hair off his face, and steadied himself before the older man.

They brought their swords up, momentarily stilled, before Eldarion stepped forward.

There were repeated clangs of steel on steel as the two men moved around the hall. The measured pacing of the training pattern was tempered occasionally by impulsive moves from Brennan, as he tested Eldarion's capabilities. The prince proved able, most of the time.

"You're dropping your right shoulder again," Brennan cautioned.

"And I'm still advancing on you," Eldarion countered.

"That does not matter. Your offence is weakened by your stance, no matter how well you deflect my sword."

Brennan matched Eldarion's blows for a few moments more, but soon enough found an opportunity to prove his point. After the tip of Eldarion's blade came down on his sword lightly once more, in one motion Brennan raised his sword against Eldarion's, and turned against the prince's left side. Eldarion's balance faltered, and with a shove to his shoulder, Brennan knocked him to the ground.

Eldarion caught his breath, sheepishly.

"Alright, I see what you mean."

"You did well with the White Company this spring, but you cannot make such mistakes on the field. Did you see your weakness?"

Eldarion nodded. "I was off balance. I will correct it."

Brennan nodded in acceptance, and extended a hand to help his pupil to his feet.

"This is still better than sitting in front of a table, memorising maps." Eldarion said as he found his feet again.

The two men found their starting places again. Eldarion rolled his shoulders, adjusting his stance to begin another bout. Mentally he was adding his mistake to a list of tactics never to repeat.

"Again."

***

"Mother, would you not like to rest?"

Mírra could not help feeling concerned, for Arwen was by now showing more advanced signs of labour. After moving about for the last hour or so at the most tedious of paces, they had stopped altogether. The Queen was leaning against the wall, rubbing the underside of her belly to relieve the discomfort. Around the room Mírra saw subtle signs of commotion that had not been present before. The midwife, Corinna, had arrived and with her assistants was preparing the rest of the room.

Arwen breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to relax. She smiled faintly at her daughter.

"I am well. I do not mean to worry you. This must seem strange, but walking is actually comfortable right now."

She gave Mírra's hand a small squeeze, trying to be reassuring. Almost immediately though, she released it as she felt her belly tighten once more. She leaned forward into the wall and pressed her forehead against her hands, taking as deep a breath as she could. The familiar but nonetheless powerful sensation of pressure was becoming stronger with each more prolonged contraction. She had to admit she felt the labour progressing rapidly.

"Mother, is there nothing you need, nothing I can do?" Mírra doubted if she was the right companion for Arwen at this time. "Shall I send for father?"

Arwen paused. The King had been unavoidably away from Minas Tirith during the births of his daughters. And Eldarion's arrival had been so overwhelming that they had been cautious, neither knowing what to expect.

"I am not sure," she said shakily as she found her voice again. "His presence was never an option before."

She was still thinking on the matter when Corrina came over. The midwife was old but not aged, with only a few streaks of grey yet in her brown hair. Her expression showed kindness and capability.

"By the looks of it, we will have a new prince or princess before the sun sets. How are you faring, my Lady?"

In answer Arwen gave a low, fragile moan.

"Until a few moments ago, my answer would have been, ‘very well'." She swallowed and regained a modicum of composure. "Now, though, I wonder if I should heed my daughter's advice and take some rest."

Arwen allowed her companions to assist her to the bed, and she lay down slowly on her side against the pillows, continuing to rub her taut belly.

Corrina saw Mírra's concern for Arwen. "My dear, would you be so good as to fetch some clean towels for me? And perhaps another pillow for your mother?"

Mírra smiled, somewhat relieved to have a task.

While she was gone, Corrina took advantage of the opportunity, and made a quick examination.

"You're making quick progress. It should be only a few hours more, I would imagine."

"So soon? But I have not been in great pain, not until just now."

"This is your fourth, your highness. It would not be unusual for things to progress more smoothly than your earlier births. Your body has likely been preparing for hours already."

The Queen nodded in agreement. "I think this is going to be fast."

Despite her discomfort, Arwen was becoming excited by the prospect of finally greeting her child. And with a sudden thrill she knew who could be with her.

***

"Undómiel…"

It was only his voice that she caught at first. Then his hand was there, holding hers, and she grasped it for relief.

"Meleth-nîn," she nearly whispered, opening her eyes to look into his.

"At first I thought something was wrong, when you sent for me…"

She shook her head, even as the concentration in her face betrayed the effort of what was taking place.

"I wanted you with me. It felt right."

Just then Arwen sat up slightly. She dipped her head and winced silently as the pain intensified. While it faded she began to breathe hard, nearly panting.

Aragorn swallowed. "Mellwain, I'm not sure what I should do."

She turned to him and smiled as she answered. "You can support me by sitting by me, simply being with me."

He sighed inwardly and felt a small measure of anxiety vanish.

"Where is Mírra?" she asked, after exhaling a slow breath.

"Gone to find Lúthea. I think she was a little nervous."

Arwen nodded, allowing herself to relax against him momentarily. But the moment was short, for she soon closed her eyes once again and knitted her brow as another contraction came on fast. She leaned into Aragorn and pressed her forehead into his shoulder, and released an intense moan that could no longer be stifled.

Aragorn put his free hand to her back and began to rub. He could feel the muscles of her body tight underneath his fingers. The tension at last seemed to give way under the applied pressure, but not entirely.

Arwen caught her breath, feeling the support of her husband beside her. She felt his hand steady in hers.

"I am glad you're here."

"So am I."

***

Looking for a way to pass the remaining hours of waiting, Mírra joined her sister in the library. With Aragorn's help, Lúthea had already found several books of interest, and was settled in a small corner of her own. At the King's request, the library attendants passed by from time to time, and observed the younger princess with gentle curiosity.

Lúthea sat on a bench at a large table in one of the side reading rooms. The toes of her slippers dangled a few inches from the floor as she quietly turned the pages of the large book in front of her. The parchment was filled with text and many drawings, colourfully detailed.

"What have you found here?" Mírra came and took a place next to her sister. In some small way the table resembled her father's study, with all sorts of books laying open.

"Father showed me how to find stories." She frowned a little at her words. "No, that's not right. They're called history books. There are whole shelves full of them."

Mírra could not help but smile at how engrossed Lúthea was with it all. She nodded to the book in front of them. "What's in this one, then?"

"It's about a place called The Shire." She turned back a few pages, and with both hands lifted up the cover to show her sister the large illustrations. "There's a map of it, here."

Mírra recognised some of what she saw. "Father knew this place well, didn't he? He used to tell us about it when we were very small."

"The halflings – no, the hobbits. They live there." Lúthea's dark eyes sparkled. "But they don't live anywhere else, only in The Shire. And no one else may go there, no one of our size, I mean." Lifting her arm, she pointed a slender finger in the direction of the bookshelves nearest their table. "That section, there. That's where the histories of the hobbits are."

"This place is far north, on the other side of Middle-Earth," Mírra said, studying the map. "I wonder if I will ever be able to travel so far." The last part she spoke quietly, half murmuring to herself.

Lúthea touched her arm, and met her eyes earnestly. "But you don't need to go there. You can read about it."

Mírra smiled again. Her sister was so different from her in some ways. But she was content to share in her enthusiasm for the tales of other lands.

"Alright then. What does it say about this place…" she let a fingertip land somewhere on the map. "…Tuckborough."

"I haven't read that far yet." Lúthea began to turn pages again. "But we can find out."

The two girls turned their similar dark eyes to the book. They passed the next few hours together, reading and talking quietly.

***

It was much later, after day had turned to evening, when the King and Queen sat together comfortably on the bed. Arwen held their new daughter as they quietly took in the newness of it all.

"To think it has been more than seventeen years, since we sat here with Eldarion."

"I cannot quite believe it myself," Arwen replied softly. She touched her fingertips to the child's cheeks, then stroked over the small curled fingers.

Aragorn shook his head slightly as he went back in memory. They had been so overjoyed then, to at last become parents after two decades of waiting. This fourth time, they took each new moment as it came, simply for what it was.

Arwen saw how captivated her husband was. Gently she nudged him, and passed the child into her father's arms. She laid herself against the pillows next to Aragorn, resting a hand comfortably at his elbow, feeling fatigue take over.

Aragorn held the baby carefully but surely, cradling one hand underneath the small brown-haired head. He found himself once again entranced by the tiny features, by what the two of them had brought into being.

The newborn awoke and blinked slowly, adjusting to her surroundings.

It was only then that Aragorn noticed her eyes. Their three older children, however different they might have been in other respects, all had dark eyes like their mother. But as he looked into his new daughter's face he was greeted with a pair of light grey eyes, like his own. They gleamed brightly up at him.

"Like little stars," Arwen observed.

She could see a curious expression – of happiness, recognition – cross his face. His eyes were locked with his new daughter's.

"She has hold of you now," said Arwen sleepily.

Aragorn turned away from his daughter, long enough to smile back at his wife.

"So it would seem."

*******

**Footnotes:**  
 _ada_ = father (dad, daddy)  
 _meleth-nîn_ = my love  
 _mellwain_ = dearest  



	3. Pebbles, Blocks, and Firelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

"Mírra!"

The King called out after his oldest daughter, who had strayed from their party.

The small group had stopped just near Osgiliath to the east of the Anduin, on the return from Emyn Arnen. Having let the horses take water, they would soon be ready to begin the remainder of the journey.

Aragorn's feet crunched on the thin layer of snow that remained on the ground. Although it had partially melted in the recent, unusually warm early spring weather, a thin layer of white crystals remained.

He rounded a small cluster of birch trees, and saw his daughter not far off, next to the edge of a large stream that ran west to meet the Great River.

Mírra was crouched next to the water's edge, unaware of her father's approach. The surface ice had melted in the sunshine, and she dipped her fingertips ever so gently into the lazy current. She retrieved a pebble and examined its swirled pattern on the flat palm of her hand.

When Aragorn called out a second time, she turned her head abruptly and noticed him. Mírra stood and pocketed her small stone and stepped over to her father. She was as tall as the Queen now.

"Are we leaving now?"

"Not just yet, I only wondered where you had gone to."

"I'm sorry, I suppose I lost track of where I was."

Aragorn gave a reassuring wave of his hand.

"It is no matter, we have a few moments yet."

He took up a leather water flask that he had carried with him to the stream, and bent down to replenish it.

"It is a shame we had to return so soon," the princess commented, pulling her dark cloak tighter around her.

"Soon?" Aragorn stood and closed the flask. "I had thought a month in Emyn Arnen would be enough time for you?"

"Of course. But now that spring is coming, there would be more to see."

Aragorn had debated taking Mírra with him on this journey. Having gone essentially for business, to share information with the Lord Faramir and his sons, the King unfortunately had not been able to spend the full time with his daughter.

"Did you enjoy your stay there?"

Mírra nodded cheerfully.

"Very much. The Lady Éowyn was very kind to me. I liked her."

"I thought you might."

"Eldarion had hardly told me anything about the royal hills and the Steward's home. I will compare with him when I get back."

The young woman absentmindedly stamped her feet a few times, not really from cold, since the day was warm.

Aragorn had bent down to the stream's edge, noticing a particularly flat, smooth pebble. He turned back to his daughter as he rose again.

"You did not mind then, going at this time of year? The weather is not so fine."

"You mean it because is wet, and cold?" Mírra held out her cloak to display, almost proudly, the thin track of mud that had collected at the hem of the heavy sable fabric. "… and muddy?"

"I see now I was mistaken to think that would hold you back." Aragorn smiled as he turned his small stone between his fingers. "With that attitude, no doubt you will make a fine impression on your next adventure, whatever it is."

Mírra lifted her heels briefly. "I intend to."

Aragorn turned to face the sparkling stream again, held the stone out briefly at his side, and with a smooth snap of his arm, tossed it out to the water. It skipped three times over the surface before sinking.

Mírra's expression brightened suddenly.

"How do you do that?"

"The trick is the right motion of the wrist." He mimed the correct gesture. "Flat stones work best. Why don't you try?"

Mírra immediately bent to look for her own stones, a few feet farther down the edge of the water. She found one that looked right, and held it up to brush it clean from dirt.

When she did toss one out, it sank as soon as it hit the water. She frowned and looked back at her father.

Aragorn demonstrated with yet another pebble, which skipped twice before sinking.

"Quick and straight. It is easier in still water, of course. Try again."

She bit her lip in concentration, practised the gesture a few times before finally letting the stone fly. It skipped once.

Mírra was pleased, and cheered for herself.

Aragorn clapped in response. "Keep going."

They spent the next few minutes by the water, only realising they had lost track of time when an attendant approached, calling out to the missing pair.

"Your highness, the horses are ready." He looked somewhat relieved to have found them.

Aragorn straightened.

"Thank you, we will follow presently." He then motioned to his daughter as they turned away from the water. "Come, it seems we have been delinquent long enough."

Mírra was thoughtful as they walked back to join their party, reflecting on part of the earlier conversation.

"What will my next adventure be, father?"

Aragorn shook his head and gave a soft chuckle.

"Time will tell, mír nîn. Let us finish enjoying this one, before we consider that."

***

It was after midday when Arwen finally made her way to the nursery, which was in the same wing as the King and Queen's rooms. Having become quiet since Lúthea had grown, it was now happily active again with the late arrival of the third princess.

She had been caught up with appearances at court all morning, as she often was in Aragorn's absence. Now, Arwen had expected only to quietly check in on Elenna while she napped, but she was met with a different situation.

The small girl was awake, and playing on the thick carpet with Adina, who rose briefly to give a curtsy to the Queen.

Arwen nodded to the young blond woman, and knelt down next to them. There were toys and blocks all around. Evidently they had spent a busy morning.

Elenna was pleased to see her mother, and waved small hands in the air as she voiced her greeting. Light eyes sparkled.

"Na! Nana!"

"Hello to you too, my darling." Arwen could not help smiling, immediately drawing the little girl on to her lap.

The little girl soon wriggled free, however, and reached toward the pile of blocks on the floor. Each one was just the right size for a toddler's grasp. She took one and carefully held it up between chubby fingers, raising it towards her mother as if for approval. She then grinned and set it down, and found another block to repeat the process with, showing it to Adina this time.

Arwen stacked a few blocks together. Elenna noticed this and after a moment of observation, passed the block in her hand to her mother. Arwen then added it to the small tower, eliciting a giggle from the little girl.

"You will be worn out by the end of the day, without your nap."

"She hardly wants to sleep at all in the afternoon, now," explained Adina. "And she often wakes earlier in the morning, too."

"Is that right?" Arwen turned to Elenna. "You only want more time to explore, I think."

"Yes. She wants to do everything but walk, it seems."

"She certainly does not appear to be in any hurry."

An expert crawler, Elenna had yet made only tentative motions toward walking, and always with assistance.

"Should we encourage her, perhaps?" offered Adina, "she seems energetic, still."

"Yes, let's." Arwen extended a hand to stroke her daughter's dark brown hair, which curled just slightly at the ends. "What do you say, darling? Shall we try a few steps?"

Elenna gave a grin as her mother held her sides, propping her up on her feet. She looked to Adina, who had backed up a few feet, and held her hands out to her young charge.

"Come, little friend!" Adina's blue eyes smiled.

Arwen stood behind her daughter and took her small hands, boosting her forward. Elenna gradually and shakily moved forward, a happy expression on her face. When she at last reached her goal, Adina welcomed her, and assisted her back in the other direction. Arwen knelt down on the other side of the carpet, motioning her daughter forward.

"Perhaps she can go a bit farther, this time."

The little girl did well for a few more minutes, but on the fourth try tumbled to the ground on her backside, frustration evident. Arwen drew her to her again and smoothed a hand over her back to settle her. She did not even mind overmuch when Elenna took a collection of her long brands in hand, steadying herself.

She could not help noticing the similarities between Elenna and her father, which became more pronounced as she grew; silvery irises in deep-set eyes, dark brown hair with a slight wave to it. Had they happened today, Aragorn surely would have been disappointed to have missed her first steps.

"Perhaps you only miss your ada, hmm?"

Arwen tipped her forehead to her daughter's, and received a grin in return.

"Well, he will be happy to see you today when he returns."

***

Late in the afternoon, Arwen hurried down to the stables, just in time to meet up with Aragorn and Mírra upon their return.

Aragorn welcomed her in his arms, letting his cloak fall over her shoulders as they embraced.

"Your journey was well?"

He kissed her briefly. "Sunny the whole last week."

"I did not mean the weather," she said with a smile.

"I have much new information to share with Eldarion, about the southern territory. And I think Mírra enjoyed herself, but it really was a simple journey."

Mírra came up brightly then, having left her horse. Arwen gave her a tight hug.

"The royal hills are wonderful, I am so pleased father brought me."

"I am so glad to hear it."

Mírra seemed to have new excitement, despite the day's long ride.

"I must find Eldarion, and tell him about it."

She kissed her mother once more, and ran off toward the palace, leaving her parents amused.

Arwen slipped her arm around her husband's waist underneath his cloak, as they left the stables with a little more leisure. She gave him an encouraging smile.

"Simple or no, it seems to have made her happy."

***

It never failed to surprise Aragorn, how much there was to catch up on after being away from the city, no matter how long his journey was. So it was much later than anticipated when he finally returned to his chambers. There had been just enough time to check in on his youngest daughter, now sleeping soundly.

He closed the door gently behind him and paused for a moment in the outer chamber, listening. The fireplace in this room was still active, matching the fire he heard crackling in the bed chamber. But there was no other commotion. Perhaps Arwen had already retired.

He unbuckled the belt of his robe as he stepped slowly forward, and unhurriedly pulled the garment off his shoulders. It had been a longer day than expected, and he would be glad to finally join Arwen in bed. He laid his robe across a large chair and slipped off his low boots, went over to the wide entranceway between the two chambers, and peered in as he began to leisurely unfasten his tunic.

His wife was sitting by the fire, half-leaning back on the small sofa in the bedroom. One hand was fingering one of the many small braids in her hair. Aragorn thought he could discern an extra touch of colour in her cheeks, but could not be sure whether it was from the fire.

Arwen turned her calm gaze to him.

"Finished at last?"

"Thankfully, yes." He smiled easily, finally feeling himself relax.

She smiled and laid her free hand down on the seat next to her.

" _Tolo enni, hîr nîn_ ," she said just loud enough for him to hear.

Leaving his tunic open, Aragorn crossed into the other chamber and stood beside her. He stroked a hand over her hair – how he loved her hair – and as Arwen gave a tug on his other hand, sat down comfortably beside her.

Slowly he fingered the small braids as she had done. Her eyes met his briefly, as if giving him permission to continue. He gently loosened the dark locks, and one by one the braids came free under his touch, all except the last.

"Wait," she said gently, protecting the last braid that hung at the side of her face. There was a small glimmer in her eyes as she gave a slight smile. "Leave the last one."

He let it remain, delved his fingers through the roots of her hair, and spread the dark curtain out and behind her shoulders. Arwen's hands went lightly to his cheeks, over his beard, to the back of his neck to draw him nearer.

"Shall I hear about today, then?"

Aragorn's breath tickled her ear as he spoke, and instinctively she clutched his open collar, feeling a pleasant shiver pass over her.

"Today can wait for later," she whispered, her breath on his cheek.

She parted the fabric of his tunic and pushed it over his shoulders. He finished by removing the garment from his arms, but as soon as his hands were free they were again on her body, smoothing over her back.

The fire crackled lightly next to them, as wood began to fade to embers.

Arwen trailed her fingertips over his bare arms, his shoulders, enjoying the way the firelight played across the contours of his muscles. Aragorn's arms were still circled around her body, as his mouth began to explore the side of her neck.

" _Presta i helch le, meleth-nîn?_ " he murmured.

"Not now…"

His fingers had found the hooks at the back of her dress, and were slowly beginning to unfasten them one by one. Arwen gave another small shiver.

"…but I certainly will be colder, if you continue."

More hooks were opened, exposing more pale skin and the chemise underneath.

"I must compensate, then," he smiled darkly, coming face to face with her, "by other means."

Then Aragorn's warm lips were on hers, and they opened their mouths to each other, tongues asking, answering. Arwen felt his heart beat faster, her own passion for him rising.

He began to remove her loosened gown, tugging at the neckline, and she pulled away breathlessly.

She stood, and faced him as she slipped the sleeves from her arms, and the dress fell about her ankles. After she had laid it across the arm of the sofa, Aragorn took her hand. She regarded him with a wry smile for a moment.

"Come to bed, _mellwain_ ," she said, squeezing his hand.

Although his wife made an essay away from the sofa, Aragorn did not move from where he sat.

"But I am comfortable here."

The calm tone of his voice contradicted the surge of heat that had risen in his body as he looked at his wife, her hair spilling loose over her shoulders, the cotton chemise she wore hugging each curve.

"Are you, now?"

Aragorn's free hand had already gone to the outside of her thigh, dragging lightly over the thin fabric. Arwen gave in and went to sit atop him, her knees straddling his waist.

"Mmm… yes… and getting even more comfortable."

His lips brushed the hollow at the base of her throat, and when goose flesh rose subtly over her skin, it was not from cold. Arwen took his bearded jaw in her hands and kissed him, as she felt his fingers straying underneath the hem of her chemise, over her knees, up her thighs. And where his touch would be next… the thought made her sigh deeply… but instead he brought his hands up to her waist, to press her even nearer to him.

"Ah, I do love it when you tease me."

Arwen felt her belly flutter with ragged breath. Aragorn looked up into her face, his eyes shadowed in the firelight.

At last her fingers worked their way down his bare body, and she sensed a gentle, familiar sigh from him as she began to loosen the waist of his trousers. And soon they were pressed intimately close, as close as man and woman could be, as lips met fervently once again.

Even as the fire began to settle, the heat between them grew.

And when they did finally retire to the bed, it was much later that evening indeed.

*******

**Footnotes:**  
 _mír nîn_ = my jewel  
 _nana_ = mom/mommy (naneth = mother)  
 _tolo enni, hîr nîn_ = Come to me, my lord  
 _presta i helch le, meleth-nîn?_ = Do you feel cold, my love? (lit. does the cold affect you)  
 _mellwain_ = dearest

Emyn Arnen translates loosely as "Royal hills", according to the Encyclopedia of Arda.  



	4. Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

The following morning, it was only an hour or so after dawn when Arwen awoke, slowly. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the pillow, enjoying lingering in the space between waking and dreaming. Feeling the cool spring morning air creeping around her, she kept the blankets pulled protectively up to her nose. The castle did not heat up easily after chilly nights.

Rolling onto her back towards the middle of the bed, she stretched the back of her hand out between the sheets to reach for Aragorn, but found nothing except the smooth linen. He was not there. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, processing his absence. His scent still lingered on the pillow.

Arwen sat up and thought for a moment as her mind cleared, and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She knew where he was, of course. There was only one place he could be – nothing else seemed to be able to distract him so.

Still shielding her body with the heavy covers, she swung her legs smoothly over the side of the bed, and sneaked her toes into the slippers that waited for her. As she reached for her robe she saw a fire had already been thoughtfully prepared. The room was beginning to feel warmer.

She stood and stretched, and with a wry smile, set out down the hall to find her errant husband.

***

When the Queen entered the nursery she saw, as expected, her youngest daughter sitting happily on the arm of her father. Aragorn sang lightly as he paced slowly by the windows. He was still in his morning robes, not yet formally dressed for the day.

Elenna held her favourite soft toy to her mouth and listened to the cheerful melody, her light eyes looking in the direction of the windows but fixed on nothing in particular. She was awake, but calm.

Aragorn turned and saw Arwen at the door, and sent a smile her way. As she reached them his lips found her cheek, with the familiar brush of his beard against her skin.

"Good morning."

Elenna reached out a hand to her, and she fingered it tenderly.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Wonderfully… though waking alone was a little disappointing," she finished with a raised eyebrow.

"I did not want to disturb you." He winked. " 'Twould have been a shame to upset such a sound sleep."

Between them, Elenna made her presence known. She was wide awake now, and happy to greet her mother. Aragorn relinquished her into Arwen's waiting arms.

"Good morning to you, too."

"She was already awake when I came, even though it was just dawn. Just lying quietly."

"Somehow that does not surprise me, given what Adina tells me." She turned to her daughter. "You were thinking on something, no doubt?"

At that moment the little girl lost hold of her toy and it fell to the floor. She gave a loud exclamation and wriggled in her mother's arms, reaching down for it. Arwen let her down and she retrieved it happily.

Aragorn was content to sit back and observe as Arwen held Elenna upright, helping her to balance as best she could as she busied herself by working new teeth against her cloth toy.

"We were trying to help her walk yesterday, but she is not quite there yet."

"I had wondered if I would miss it."

"She was only waiting on you, perhaps." Arwen then spoke in her daughter's ear. "Can you step over to your ada, and show him what you can do?"

Elenna held on to her mother's hands as she was directed towards Aragorn's chair. He held out his arms, his face brightening noticeably as he watched her totter forward.

Arwen helped her to reach her goal, and she eventually leaned forward, grinning, to grapple her father's knees.

"Well done, little star," Aragorn smiled.

It was then his turn to stand and help the little girl to another attempt across the carpet. Elenna was soon distracted, though, by her favourite set of blocks, and within a few moments she was happily crouched on the floor and reaching out for them. Aragorn sat down beside her, responding to little gestures and bright expressions.

As Arwen took her husband's place in the chair, and watched the two of them, she did not realise how quiet they had become, until Aragorn finally spoke many moments later.

"How is it that I could have missed all this?"

Arwen sat up, taken a little by surprise.

"But you have not missed that much with her, not really. She is still learning…"

He shook his head in thought.

"No, I meant before. With the girls and Eldarion, I mean."

Arwen opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly did not know what to say. It was true that, despite their best hopes Aragorn had still needed to travel often, when their children were small.

"It is only that, now that I do have time, I find myself wanting to make it up somehow. I think it was the right decision to bring Mírra with me this past month, but…"

"Of course it was the right decision, you saw the excitement on her face yourself."

She rose and slowly crossed over to kneel down on the carpet beside them, as Elenna made exploration of the toys in front of her.

"Before Elenna was born, I told myself that this time it would be different, that I would be here, even if before I was not."

She tilted her head in almost teasing reproach, that he was only one day returned, just out of bed, and already grown pensive.

"You have not been idle, meleth-nîn. Think of what has been done, in so little time, there is no shame in being proud of that."

"Yes, but I do still wonder, if I know the children as well as I could. It does not seem fair to them."

She stretched out a hand to one of his, and slipped her fingers underneath his palm.

"I would say you know them better than you think you do. Thanks to your encouragement, Lúthea is now so settled in the library that she seems to need no other hobby."

"And you know I am glad for it… Eldarion, though, I think only humours me sometimes."

Elenna chattered to herself, emitting unintelligible sounds as she sat and chewed on her cloth toy. Arwen flashed an overly dazzling expression to her, before responding to Aragorn.

"But it surprises me you should say that, for I know he has been preparing hard the last month. He wants to do well in Ithilien."

Aragorn almost frowned.

"But of course he will do well, as he has done on his other journeys with the White Company."

"Ah, but this is the first time he will be going without you."

Aragorn considered this, and spoke without doubt in his voice.

"He is of age now. He has the skill to lead a campaign on his own." He thought a moment longer. "I do not think it will harm anything, for me to stay in Minas Tirith for a season?"

Arwen shook her head.

Elenna kept a close hold of her chewing toy while inspecting blocks. Arwen watched as she took one block and held it up to Aragorn, with a bright smile. He returned the smile and took the proffered toy.

It was a gesture that had been repeated many times before, but seemed more meaningful because of the reaction that her father granted it.

Aragorn's eyes finally showed a small twinkle.

"I know you think I am being peculiar, for speaking of such matters now."

"No…" she smiled, despite herself. "Only that if this is the conversation you are starting the day with, I hate to think what the audience at the throne will have to contend with."

He suppressed a laugh.

"There is no terribly pressing business today, I think that may wait a while longer." He held his hands at the ready as Elenna crawled closer to where he sat. "Something else simply seemed more important this morning."

Arwen chuckled as she saw her daughter giggle, clutching at Aragorn's sleeve to hoist herself to a standing position.

"I cannot argue with that."

***

And so morning was well underway by the time the King had taken up his business. The Queen returned to her chambers briefly, and set out again to begin her own activities, which had also been delayed.

She was heading through the corridors, still fiddling with the cuffs of her gloves, when Mírra found her. They now met eye to eye.

"I was just coming to look for you," said the princess royal, smirking. "We will miss the whole day, if we do not leave soon."

"I am sorry, mell nîn." Arwen took her daughter's arm. "To make up for it, you shall choose our journey today."

"Ah, but I was going to do that anyway," Mírra returned, with a nudge.

"You are quite sure you do not wish to rest today, after travelling yesterday?"

Mírra winked. "Quite. I must make sure everything is still in the same place that I left it."

***

Lúthea reached her fingers as high as she dared, but still could not get to the book she was after. The shelf was simply too high for her, but not high enough to warrant a ladder. She found a stepping stool and brought it over, and tried once again.

When Eldarion soon passed by, his sister was nearly on the tips of her toes, just barely gripping the end of the book's spine. She had just managed to edge part of it off the shelf, but had to steady her balance.

He stepped over quickly, and being taller than Lúthea, even with the added height, easily lifted the book. It was of medium size, with burgundy leather spine and cover.

"I could have got it myself," she said a little defensively.

"And ended up on the floor yourself, too."

She took the book from her brother and stepped down, turning to her corner of the library where a small stack of reading awaited her. Eldarion followed her to the reading room. Lúthea had been spending so much time in the library lately, that she now had a section reserved for her use alone.

"It seems you must grow taller, if library work is to be in your future."

She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Just because you don't like studying, you don't have to tease me."

"It isn't that I don't like it, I just like to do other things too." He moved to the table and sat down across from his sister. "I suppose I simply wonder, how you can spend so much time here, never grow tired of it?"

Lúthea's fair face lit up.

"But that is just it, Eldarion, there is so much, you can never grow tired of it."

With a soft sweep of her arm she gestured to the shelves behind her.

"It isn't only the reading itself though." She smoothed slender fingers over the book she had just retrieved. "They are so beautiful, the way they are made… the lettering, the artwork. I could spend a whole day with only one."

Eldarion had to admit, when Lúthea undertook a task she did it with devotion. Mírra had been right about her enthusiasm.

"But what are you doing all the way down here?" she asked, realising how rare it was to see her brother in the library.

"Believe it or not, there is something I need to find here, that is not in father's study," he admitted.

Turning to leave, he stood at the door of the reading room, confronted with the myriad shelves in the main library hall.

"Where might I find the atlases of Gondor?"

Lúthea closed the burgundy leather book cover, and stood from her seat.

"I think I know. I'll show you."

She took her brother by the hand and they went to seek out the right section. And if she did not take the simplest route through the mazes of shelves on their way, she did not let on.

***

Later, Eldarion sat semi-comfortably in the study he shared with his father, hunched over the pages of the atlas he had retrieved from the library earlier that day. The torches on the walls were lit as always, since the study had no windows, but the prince had brought a lamp to the table to supplement the lighting level. Unlike his middle sister, he did not have much patience for reading in the shadows.

As reading material went, however, he preferred atlases. Each one in the palace's collection seemed to be slightly different from the rest, with different annotations and illustrations. It could sometimes be tricky to tell what differences were artists' concessions, and what were genuine corrections, but that was all part of scholarship, he supposed.

Eldarion turned the pages until he found the relevant section. As the closest land to the enemy, Ithilien had taken the greatest damage in the great war, and so had been the most active site of renewal over the last four decades. Eldarion himself had taken on different tasks with each visit, but he looking forward to patrolling once again with the White Company.

He inserted an index finger next to the spine to mark the page, and flipped to another section. In all honesty it was the land he did not know that intrigued him the most.

Sitting up slightly, he sighed as he perused the maps of Gondor's western provinces. On his one journey to Edoras last year they had kept almost entirely to the Great West Road, to Eldarion's disappointment. He was curious about the White Mountains. Places like Erech, that he knew had been important for his father during the great war, were completely unfamiliar to him.

Just then the door opened, sending a slight draft to make the lamp flame flicker.

"I am sorry to have kept you," said Aragorn with an apologetic sigh as he entered.

Eldarion sat up straight, and gave a small wave across the room to his father. He realised how long he had been sitting, staring at the pages, and stood to stretch.

"Shall I pour a drink?" These days, when he and his father sat down with books and maps, they were at it for a while.

"If you would like, by all means," replied the King.

Eldarion moved to the table at the side of the study, and poured wine into two pewter cups.

When he returned to the large desk, he saw his father examining the map, an odd expression on his face. It was still open to the same section of the White Mountains, near Erech.

"I'm sorry, I meant to get back to Ithilien, I was only curious about some of the other places." He still could not read his father's eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Aragorn looked up, his expression clearing.

"No, forgive me, it is only that I had not considered that part of the country for some time. We have been focusing on the east so much, I often forget how other areas may have changed."

Eldarion found himself remembering snatches of detail from stories he had heard long ago.

"You went to Erech, did you not? Before the end of the War of the Ring?"

"Yes… on the way to Pelargir…"

He suddenly was not sure how much he wanted to discuss about those events, just at this point.

"…but that is a different matter entirely, one I will not get into now. I am more interested to hear what you have researched."

Eldarion reached over and turned a corner of the atlas, to get a better perspective, and turned a few pages.

"This looked the best atlas of the selection I saw," Eldarion explained, settling a bit, "Lúthea knew where to find them, of course."

"She would." His father smiled knowingly.

Eldarion placed the tip of an index finger somewhere near the top of the page.

"The hills are well detailed, but it is the southern province that is less clear. There is hardly anything of note east of the Harad Road, not until the source of the Poros."

"Mm" – Aragorn replied just as he had taken a sip of wine – "No, there would not be. That region has been quite desolate since late in the Third Age."

"But the White Company has kept a close patrol near the road, has it not?"

"The road is safe, yes, but the extent of the dangers in the south eastern lands is not yet known." He raised a hand in recollection, thinking of something. "As a matter of fact, something I learned on my last visit may prove useful in that respect."

Aragorn rose briefly and went to the other large table of the room, to collect a few leather folders of parchment that he had been given by the Lord Faramir. Eldarion glanced slightly less than enthusiastically at the sheaf of papers that was added to the table.

"I know it is getting late in the day, but there are still some things we should look at before tomorrow. Bear with me a few hours?" said Aragorn with a note of sympathy, "All great rulers were first great scholars."

The prince was quiet a moment. He knew he was nowhere close to being a leader yet, but he obeyed the King's wishes.

***

"You are frowning, ion-nîn."

"Oh?" Eldarion relaxed his face as he looked up to answer his mother, caught somewhat by surprise. "I did not realise it, I suppose I was only thinking."

Dinner was just ending. Aragorn had been led away by Lúthea, anxious to ask him questions about her day's reading, and Mírra had soon followed. The prince however, remained, staring forward at his glass. Arwen recognised that expression well, of being so lost in thought.

"Thinking on what?" Arwen questioned her son simply.

She took the seat next to him, which had been Mírra's; she noticed the princess royal had left her wrap behind, not unpredictably.

"On nothing, really… just what adar and I were working on this afternoon."

"Preparations for your journey with the White Company?"

Eldarion nodded. As he met his mother's eye, he realised she would not allow him to let the matter drop, though all she had really done was wait for him to answer.

"Do you truly want to hear? I fear I will only sound foolish."

"I have a hard time believing that. What is it?"

Sitting back in his chair, he fingered his wineglass, circling thumb and forefinger around the base.

"I hadn't expected how it would feel to be going on my own, without father there, I mean."

"You are quite ready for it though, from what he says."

"I hope I am." He let out a slow breath. "The maps we were looking at though, so much of it is new to me, and I had so many questions."

He cast a brief glance of dark eyes to his mother.

"Adar knows the answers to each of them. I do not think there is any part of this country he does not know."

"And so he should, he has done much travelling. Do you think this makes you unqualified by comparison?"

He looked back down at his glass. "Perhaps…"

"Eldarion, you would not be making this journey if you were not ready. If your father thinks you are able to lead a party, then you can do it. And you will have Brennan with you, will you not?"

"I know. It may be I am anxious over nothing."

Arwen gave a half-smile and cocked an eyebrow.

"Why do I think you will still be occupied by this, even after our conversation is finished?"

He only shrugged and turned up his palms.

As Arwen stood, she collected the shawl that her daughter had left behind.

"You have a few days yet before you depart. Please tell me you will not spend them mired in such heavy contemplation?"

Eldarion finally hazarded a smile.

"I will do my best."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Exiting the hall, Arwen encountered her oldest daughter heading in the opposite direction. Mírra reached for her shawl.

"I knew I had left this behind." She wrapped her shoulders. "Is Eldarion still at dinner?"

"Yes, and apparently happy to be alone with his thoughts, for the moment."

As they headed back to their quarters, Arwen turned to her daughter.

"Please, tell me we will be going riding again tomorrow?"

Mírra halted in surprise, but then grinned as curiosity got the better of her.

"Alright, we will ride tomorrow, but why?"

"I think it is more cheerful than the alternative. The men in this family are being far too serious at this time."

Mírra laughed.

*******

**Footnotes:**  
 _meleth-nîn_ = my love  
 _mell-nín_ = my dear  
 _ada_ = dad/daddy (adar = father)  
 _ion-nîn_ = my son  



	5. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

It was a late April afternoon in the royal city, and the Queen was near completion of the work she had done in recent weeks in the south garden. The space itself had changed noticeably over the last four decades – what was once simply a pocket of green was now one of many lush gardens that had revitalised Minas Tirith.

The south garden of the Citadel though, being quite close to the High Court, was kept private for the royal family, and Arwen took great joy in maintaining it. Due to the work of the King's skilled architects it was fairly elevated, and provided a modest lookout of the Anduin.

Kneeling beside a patch of earth, Arwen gently took a small bundle wrapped in damp cloth from a basket next to her.

They may yet take hold. It is still early in the season.

She had found the three white orchids while walking about Mount Mindolluin. In Gondor they were a rarity, and Arwen paid special attention to collecting as many as she could. The pale blossoms had a delicate beauty but were quite hardy, and could last for almost a month if the weather was favourable.

Carefully handling the first bundle, Arwen removed the muslin wrapping and placed the plant into a small hollow in the damp earth. With luck it would settle into its new home.

She planted the remaining two, and began to tend to the rest of the flowerbed.

Just nearby sat Lúthea, reading, absentmindedly twirling a lock of smooth hair between her fingers. She had chosen to kneel on the ground, using a small stone bench as a table upon which a book was spread open.

Arwen heard her daughter's soft voice call out.

"Naneth?"

"Yes, darling?"

"What is ‘a-the-las'?" She spoke the last word carefully, not sure of its pronunciation.

Arwen paused, looking up with interest. There was so much history to athelas, she could not begin to describe it all.

"What book have you got now?"

Lúthea lifted the cover briefly to look at the underside.

"Plant and Animal Life of Eriador."

"Ah. Athelas is a healing plant. It is also known in the north as ‘kingsfoil'."

Lúthea flipped a few pages, and stopped when she found what she was looking for. "Kingsfoil is a low-lying plant with small, green leaves. Small white flowers through late summer and autumn," she read aloud. "It says it is hard to find, because it is often considered a weed." She frowned slightly. "But it says nothing here about healing properties."

Somehow, this did not surprise Arwen.

"Perhaps the author did not know of them. You should ask your father to tell you more about it. He knows much about that plant."

The princess came over to her mother, book still in hand.

"But why do so many things have more than one name?'

Arwen looked up from where she knelt, expecting to see her daughter's brow creased in confusion. Eldarion had often complained of how much he had to memorise when he began learning. But to her surprise, Lúthea's expression was still light – she had asked out of plain curiosity, not frustration. Arwen gave the simplest answer she could.

"Well, it is because the different peoples of the world call things in nature by different names, in their own languages. When different cultures come together, they borrow words from each other. Some of those words last longer than others."

Lúthea seemed to accept this, and thought a moment.

"I would choose to keep ‘kingsfoil', because it is easier to pronounce."

"That is… a practical way of choosing."

Arwen wondered how long certain words would linger. Would there come a time, many years from now, when everything would have only one name? It was inevitable, she supposed.

She shook those thoughts away. "What does it say in your book about orchids?"

Kneeling down beside Arwen, Lúthea turned a few pages on her lap.

"Plant bearing flowers in fantastic shapes and brilliant colours, usually having one petal larger than the others." She looked to her mother after she had read the short passage. "There is a small drawing, here."

Arwen looked, and nodded to the flowerbed.

"Well, in a few weeks we may see for ourselves, if this works."

Lúthea smiled and turned back to quietly read another page or two. After a few moments she rose, and stepped slowly back to her bench, eyes still on her book. Eventually she left the volume on the bench and surveyed the work her mother was doing.

"Shall I help you?"

Arwen stood and brushed soil from her hands as she considered this offer.

"Will you collect some lavender for me?"

Lúthea cheerfully took up the now-empty basket beside her mother, as Arwen pulled a small pair of scissors from a pocket of her dress.

"You remember where to make the cuts on the stem?" she said as she handed them over.

"Of course."

And with the flash of a smile, she was off.

As the Queen was finishing up her work, one of her handmaids came briefly to deliver a letter that had arrived.

Arwen accepted the message, and was about to put it in her pocket to read later, when she was suddenly confronted with the familiar seal on the parchment. Her breath caught slightly in her throat. She sat down daze-like on the stone bench, staring at the crest made in the green wax.

We did not expect a message for weeks. What if their plans have changed?

Curiosity got the better of her anxiety, and she broke the letter's seal to read its contents. In a moment though, her fears vanished, and her expression brightened. She had worried for nothing.

Lúthea returned with her small basket filled with purple flowers, and then noticed the paper in her mother's hands.

"Is there news?" Her voice was light.

Arwen looked up and smiled, as she folded the letter to put it in a pocket of her skirts.

"Only to say we will have visitors earlier than expected."

"Oh. That will be nice." Her eyebrows lifted slightly, blissfully unaware of who the visitors would be. She presented her collection. "How are these, then?"

Arwen gave the basket an appraising smile. Her daughter had chosen well, not surprisingly.

"They will do nicely." She plucked a few blossoms and gently crushed them between her hands, with a wink. "We do not need to display them all, though – I think a few we may save for ourselves?"

Lúthea nodded eagerly. She lifted her hair back a little and turned her head to let her mother rub the crushed petals behind her ear. The Queen next did the same for herself, and they were both soon surrounded by a pleasant fragrance.

"I'll ask Adina for help to arrange them in the sitting room, if she is not too busy with Elenna. See you at dinner?"

"Of course."

The princess dipped her face toward the basket to take a deep breath of the lavender, and happily left to her task, remembering to take her book with her before she went.

Not more than a few minutes later, Arwen had cleaned up and set out to inform her husband of the letter's contents.

***

Having just returned from business in the city, the King walked into the Citadel, followed closely by attendants, who were doing their best to answer his questions. Now that the spring season was underway, trade activity was picking up, and he made sure to keep abreast of the latest reports.

He was so caught up in listening as he walked, that he did not notice his wife approaching, until she was almost directly before him. Aragorn smiled warmly and took her hand. A fresh floral scent greeted him as she came near.

The two attendants, who had accompanied their highness this far, bowed and discreetly made their exit down the corridor.

"This arrived just now. From Lórien."

She had perhaps walked a little too quickly; her heart beat faster than usual.

Aragorn's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as he took the parchment, and scanned its contents.

"Elladan and Elrohir are coming early?"

Arwen squeezed his hand excitedly. "They should be here next week, if this is correct."

He had not expected the Lords of Imladris for another month. In truth he had so many other things on his agenda to think about, he had almost completely forgotten about their impending visit.

He put his arm around Arwen's shoulders, as they walked in the direction of the court.

"Eldarion will not have returned yet," he said after a quiet moment.

"But he will, soon enough. Better late than never?"

Aragorn's mind began to turn. He was glad to have something else to plan for, besides official business.

"We must get ready, then."

Arwen circled an arm around her husband's waist.

"The week will pass too slowly." She looked up at him, biting her lip in a smile. "I cannot wait."

***

Sitting next to his wife, the King tried to remain still, and rested his hands flat on the arms of the high seat – he had never been used to calling it a throne. But even then his fingertips could not rest, as he unconsciously rubbed against the indentations in the grain of the wood. His collar seemed to chafe at his neck. The silver circlet he wore felt strangely heavy on his brow.

The Queen was making the same attempt at tranquillity, but he saw her fingers fidgeting in her lap.

With a sidelong glance, she caught his eye, gave a half smile.

"I keep telling myself this is not new, that they have been here before."

He turned the palm of his hand up and she brought her hand to meet it on the armrest. With entwined fingers they were both finally calm, for a moment.

"That does not make it less exciting, for much has changed since their last visit. The children have all grown so."

After he responded his thoughtful eyes looked briefly to their two older daughters, who sat near, quietly enthusiastic, but not quite knowing what to expect.

"To say nothing, I suppose, of the work you and Eldarion have done in renewing Gondor's eastern border?"

He turned back to her, smiling. "Of course, that too."

Before long the doors to the hall opened, allowing entrance to the party that had just arrived.

As the two tall, dark-haired Elf-lords entered and approached the white-marbled dais, the King and Queen rose together and stood. There was a hush among the small gathering of courtiers who observed. Their deeds in the great war and in the northern kingdom were as well known as their connection to the Queen.

"You are welcome in Minas Tirith, Lords of Imladris," said Aragorn, stepping forward.

Formal introductions, though, were soon dispensed with in favour of more familiar greetings.

Elladan extended a hand first, his smile broad. "It is good to see you again, muindor-aran."

"And you."

Elrohir meanwhile happily greeted Arwen, embracing her warmly.

"I am glad to see you here early, for it has already been too long since your last visit," said the Queen, over her brother's shoulder.

"Little more than a decade, mell muinthel. But still we could see no reason to delay another month."

Aragorn extended his arm toward Mírra and Lúthea, who stood by shyly. Lúthea took her father's hand, and went immediately to his side, demurely looking towards her uncles with a slight smile. Mírra came forward with a little more eagerness, and gave a well-practised curtsy.

"You know Mírra and Lúthea," Arwen began, taking Mírra's side, "but they are much changed from how you remember them."

Elladan and Elrohir bowed, in turn.

"My goodness," said Elrohir, extending a hand to his older niece, "can this young lady be the same girl who could not keep her skirts clean from running around outside, when I last saw her?"

Mírra blushed furiously, but answered happily.

"The same."

Lúthea remained next to her father, her stature still quite small compared with the tall family around her. She gave a curtsy as well, but was still too shy to speak.

"What of my nephew?" inquired Elladan.

"Eldarion is still with the White Company's campaign," answered Aragorn, "We expect to see him in a few weeks."

"You have not yet seen your youngest niece however," added Arwen. "When Elenna wakes you must meet her."

Elrohir shook his head.

"This family seems to grow bigger each time we visit."

Aragorn chuckled.

"Come, you must want to get settled. At dinner we will hear all your news."

***

News was shared at dinner, excited conversation between hosts and guests. Mírra and Lúthea had hung on their uncles' every word – Elrohir in  
particular had been in fine form. But it was the King and the two Elf-lords who had kept the raucous chatter going on into the small hours.

Upon returning to their chambers, Aragorn had let the door close a little  
louder than anticipated.

"Shh, you will surely disturb the castle." Although she scolded him, a light smile played on her lips.

"Ah, at this hour, they will be asleep already."

"Precisely my point."

She took his hand to go into their bed chamber. It had been a good evening, with enough merry conversation to keep them occupied for hours yet. But it was now very late, they had to admit.

"I believe I have had too much wine," said Aragorn as he let his wife lead him slowly forward.

"I think all three of you did. Your heads will be aching tomorrow."

Coming to the bed, he sat down heavily.

"Maybe so."

"And so you should take your rest now, while you still can," Arwen finished, kissing his cheek.

Releasing his hand, she stepped away, just into the outer chamber to her  
dressing table, to remove her few pieces of jewelry. It had been a good evening. It made Arwen glad, to see the three of them so caught up with each other, like brothers again.

She heard a deep, quiet laugh come from the inner chamber.

"What is it now?"

"I cannot believe the stories Elrohir was dragging out," replied Aragorn, having laid himself back on the bed. He had raised a hand to rub his forehead, laughing softly, despite himself. "That time I nearly hit him with the arrow, when I was first learning."

"I thought he said it grazed his ear?"

Aragorn let out a dismissive noise. "He makes it sound worse than it was, like I aimed for him on purpose. I think it was rather he who was in the way."

Arwen finally returned, undressed and wearing her robe, and crawled across the bed to kneel over him.

"Poor thing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now, you are sympathetic? I did not see you come to my defence before."

"That is because it was simply too much fun to watch the three of you laughing."

She brushed hair off his face, feeling him lightly take hold of her waist, and gave him a simple kiss on the lips. His eyes grew calm as he looked up at her.

"Sleep now, for you will surely be tired in the morning."

Once again he cocked an eyebrow, and raised his hands to her waist, over the thinly-woven fabric of her robe.

"There is no need to fuss, for I am not tired yet, bain hiril."

She could not help grinning back. "Oh, indeed, hîr-nin?"

Aragorn pulled her close, and wrapping his arms about her, rolled her over on her back.

"Indeed," he replied, bringing his lips to hers in a firm kiss.

She smiled against the roughness of his beard, with the familiar, comfortable weight of his body over her. Perhaps their night together was not ending just yet.

***

There was much to catch up on from the last decade or so, but for the most part the reunited family was content to let days pass easily, acquainting Elladan and Elrohir once again with the capital of the southern realm.

On one afternoon, still in the early days of their visit, Elladan remained behind with his sister and two younger nieces, sitting in the garden. Aragorn had gone with Mírra, who was most eager to show Elrohir the stables.

"You have done marvellous work here, Arwen," said Elladan, surveying the lush flowerbeds and greenery around them. "It feels as though I never left Imladris."

His sister beamed notably at the compliment.

He moved to sit down next to Arwen, who held Elenna on her lap. Lúthea sat to the side, quietly absorbed in embroidery, while her mother and uncle talked.

"She favours Aragorn," he remarked on his youngest niece, who was observing him with curiosity.

Arwen nodded, smiling.

"They are quite close. Elenna is so cheerful, she could turn the heart of anyone, I think."

As if to prove her mother's words, Elenna gave a smile and a small wave to her uncle. She was warming up to him. Elladan could not help smiling in return. He extended a hand to meet one of hers.

"Mae govannen, tim-gwenn."

Elenna's smiled widened into a gap-toothed grin. Her light eyes sparkled.

"I certainly have much to catch up on, for Lúthea was just this one's age the last time I was here. How she has grown," Elladan remarked, with a nod to his other niece, who remained calmly focused on the needle and fabric in her hands.

He paused a moment, contemplating something that he was surprised not to have thought of before.

"Lúthea reminds me of adar, you know."

Arwen looked back at him, sudden pride in her voice.

"You see it too?"

The older elf nodded slowly.

"Yes… I cannot quite pin down the exact detail, but it is there. There is something about the way she concentrates, that seems just as how father was, when he would sit at his desk…" He turned to Arwen, a little sheepish. "I am sorry. I seem to be waxing philosophical these days."

"What is so wrong with that? Tell me what is on your mind."

Elladan shook his head slightly, thinking, and then rested his cheek against his palm as he continued.

"I was just remembering when Elrohir and I were young, and just beginning our studies. Father was always so diligent about showing us his library, taking such care with our lessons. I think he was a little disappointed that we did not have the same devotion for it that he did. But by the time you arrived, perhaps he decided it was best not push you into it."

Elladan looked over at his sister, expecting a reply. She was smiling faintly as she watched Lúthea, but there was a melancholy look behind her eyes.

"Arwen?"

She blinked as if waking herself out of a daze, and straightened as she turned her eyes back to her brother.

"Oh… I was just following my memory too, back to when I was small."

Elenna began to grow restless, so Arwen allowed her to slide her still-chubby legs down to the ground. She spied her sister close by. Lúthea looked up from her stitching and saw Elenna looking in her direction. She set the fabric down on the bench beside her and held her arms out. Elenna crawled over happily.

"When I used to sit in father's study," the Queen continued reflectively, "I think I found the books all quite fascinating because they were beautiful, and there were so many of them. But when I was that young I did not understand why he spent so much time with them. Now, it makes me glad to see Lúthea take such an interest."

"It is not all accidental, surely," Elladan teased his sister, giving her a nudge.

Despite herself, Arwen blushed.

"I have told her many tales, certainly, but it is Aragorn that introduced her to the library. To tell the truth, I am sorry I did not think of it myself, she likes it so much."

Brother and sister shared a smile.

Seeing Elenna, at the age she was now, Elladan was reminded of another meeting… Had it really been so long ago? It was over a century now, and things had been so different then. And that small boy was now grown into a King…

"Naneth!"

The two elves were drawn out of their reflection by an excited call from Lúthea. Looking over, they saw her kneeling next to Elenna, who was standing, all on her own. Lúthea held out one arm hesitantly, half-expecting the little girl to fall back down.

"She's doing it!" Lúthea smiled.

But she did not fall, only stood with hand still at her mouth, while the other gave a wave.

Arwen drew in an excited breath and immediately crouched to extend her hands to her smallest daughter.

"Come on then, what are you waiting for now?"

Elenna seemed to take note of the few feet between her and her mother. Cautiously, she took one step. Evidently it was sound enough to propel her forward, for in four more small steps she reached Arwen's waiting arms.

"The first time, then?" Elladan inquired, as Arwen gave the little girl a congratulatory hug.

"The first time on her own," the Queen replied. "And you kept us in suspense long enough, didn't you?"

Elenna's only answer was another gap-toothed smile.

Arwen turned back to her brother.

"You will stay the season, then?"

The Elf-lord nodded. "I can see there is much visiting to be done, no doubt about that."

*******

**Footnotes:**  
Translations (Sindarin):  
 _naneth_ = mother  
 _muindor-aran_ = brother-king  
 _mell muinthel_ = dear sister  
 _bain hiril_ = beautiful lady  
 _hîr-nin_ = my lord  
 _mae govannen, tim-gwenn_ = well met, little star girl  
 _adar_ = father  



	6. Further Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

Just after the break of dawn, a moderate sized party of riders assembled in the foothills of Emyn Arnen made final preparations for departure. The sky was overcast with clouds that had lingered from recent rain. A few horses whinnied, shook their bridles in eagerness.

A young man at the side of the group rubbed his gloved hands together in the briskness of the cold morning. He made one last check of his saddle, and mounted. Another man, some years older, rode near and gave a brief salute.

“All appears to be ready, my lord. Barring a few last minute adjustments to harnesses, the usual things, we await only your command.”

Eldarion held back a chuckle, only smiled.

“That is something I am not yet used to giving.”

Brennan answered amiably.

“I would think that six weeks with the White Company, patrolling the western side of the Ephel Duath, more than qualifies you, my lord.”

The young Lord of Minas Tirith pulled his sable cloak closer about his shoulders, pushed hair of the same colour off his face.

“Very well, my friend.” He pursed his smile as he straightened his posture in the saddle. “Let the company move out.”

 

***

 

Eldarion spoke easily to his companion as they made their way toward the Osgiliath. Having left so early in the day, they could afford to take a relaxed pace for an hour or two.

“Is it true that Elves inhabit this region? I see few signs of them.”

“So they say,” replied Brennan. “Often Elven ambassadors meet with the King in his city. But the signs of their presence are indeed most evident. How do you think this land comes to be so fair?”

Late spring was certainly an opportune time of year to journey through Gondor’s eastern province. Aside from the dense foliage of the foothills, this countryside had lush greenery that was not to be found in the other regions of the southland.

There could be no doubt though, that of all the lands that had felt the wrath of Darkness during the Third Age, Ithilien, sharing a border with the lands of Shadow, was in the direst need of relief.

“Even two decades ago, when I was first sent on a patrol here, it was not like this,” continued Brennan, “To see it now thriving is a most glad sight.”  
  
“Perhaps when I have seen other provinces, Ithilien’s beauty will seem more pronounced by comparison.” Eldarion could not help sighing a little. “Listen to me – I fear I am sounding like my sister, thinking only of seeing new places.”

“Ah, there is no need for you to feel anxious on that account. I was much the same way, in my younger years.”

“Was Ithilien your first posting in those days, then?”

“Oh no, my earlier expeditions were simply messenger errands through Anórien and Lebennin. Occasionally as far as Eastfold. Did I never tell you of this before?”

The prince shook his head.

“Well, my friends never understood why I was so eager to take up the messenger work, but believe me, there was nothing I would have liked better. My only task was to ride across the country, and to me it felt like exploring. I grew to know the White Mountains quite well during those years.”

Eldarion was reminded of a few certain maps that he had lately taken an interest in.

“You say you sometimes saw Eastfold? Did you never journey to Lamedon at all?”

“A few times… yes, but not nearly so often. By the time I was making journeys of that length, I was reassigned to the site of Minas Ithil. And then to the White City, when a certain boy needed help with his sword work…”

“…and he is most grateful for your tutelage.”

Brennan grinned back.

“Just remember who taught you everything you know, when it is your turn to wear the crown.”

Eldarion raised a hand in declaration.

“That day is still thankfully far off, my friend.”

The two men were silent for a moment, and navigated the horses towards an upcoming river crossing. Osgiliath was now coming in sight to the northwest.

Eldarion, though, was reluctant to let their conversation go so easily.

“But what have you seen of Lamedon, Brennan? Do you know the town of Erech?”

“I was there once… no, twice. Years ago though. I hear that region has also changed over the last few decades.”

The prince remained inquisitive.

“And the land north of there, towards Edoras. What do you know of that?”

Brennan turned directly to his companion, now more than a little intrigued by his questions.

“You are driving at something, my lord. What is it you wish to know?”

Eldarion looked back, lips pursed in thought.

“I am curious about Erech… and the Paths of the Dead.”

Brennan straightened with a deep breath, and responded carefully.

“I would think questions about that are better directed to your father, the King.”

The younger man scratched a dark eyebrow.

“I know… The last time I consulted with him, about this journey, I had been looking at maps of the western provinces. That is when I began to think of it. I cannot tell why, but I could not bring myself to question him.”

“But my lord, you must know that story. Every child in this country knows of those events, of how the War of the Ring was won…”

“…Yes, but still my father rarely speaks of it,” Eldarion interjected. “He tells us of the past, but somehow I wonder if there are some things he does not want to be reminded of.”

Brennan was not sure how to respond to the prince’s comments about the King. Such matters seemed too personal to discuss with an outsider.

“I can tell you what I know about the landscape, and the great stone at Erech, and the tales of those who witnessed Elessar’s journey to the Pelargir, but beyond that…”

“Beyond that, only my father can tell,” Eldarion finished. Brennan gave a silent nod.

They came now to the bridge just east of Osgiliath, and began to cross. It was not yet midday; they would be at Minas Tirith by mid afternoon, with luck.

“We should let the horses take water here, and then press on across Anduin.”

“Agreed, my lord.”

The prince turned to his companion after the company had halted.

“Still, not having seen the place myself, I would enjoy hearing your account of Erech, and the great stone. It must be an impressive sight.”

“That it is.” As they dismounted, Brennan cleared his throat and collected his thoughts. “No one can tell the origin of the stone, but so the story goes, in the days of Isildur…”

 

***

 

“Did you not want to go with Aragorn and Elrohir? I believe Mírra planned to lead them out to the riverside.”

Elladan turned, a little surprised to see his sister had found him.

“No, I suppose I wanted to stay inside today.”

“Me, too,” Arwen smiled. “Lúthea seems to be of like mind, for she was heading to finish some weaving when I left her.”

Elladan folded his arms and leaned back against one wall of the spacious hallway they were in, quite near to the library. The high walls and floor were of the same sand-coloured marble of the archives area. This wide corridor, though, was filled with artwork, portraits of Kings and Queens, of Stewards from years past.

Elladan nodded to the large painting in front of him.

“I am trying to recall if the other portraits I have seen of Valacar are as unflattering.”

Arwen raised an eyebrow at the artist’s conception, painted in rather unattractive tones indeed.

“Oh, the small matter of a Kin-strife, you mean?” She gave a small chuckle. “Perhaps some memories fade more quickly than others.”

Elladan’s hands were clasped comfortably behind his back as they made their way side by side down the corridor, the brother just a little taller than his sister.

“I had thought to refresh my memory of the Southern line, but the portraits are not as complete as I had expected,” he observed, “many seem to be missing from earlier in the third age.”

“Yes, before King Tarondor it is indeed incomplete. The Disasters resulted in great material loss, and so before then we are still missing a great deal.” Arwen sighed a little. “Lúthea is making discoveries to much the same effect in the library, and Aragorn is often lamenting the gaps in the written records.”

She caught her brother’s curious glance, briefly.

“I have found that there is much to remember, Elladan. There is so much history here, that we were little aware of.”

They came to a small foyer where two hallways met, skirted by a few small benches. Elladan motioned to one and they both sat. On the wall opposite them hung an impressive portrait of Ecthelion I.

“You do seem to be familiar with it all,” said the Elf-lord after a quiet moment.

“It is partly to do with the children, you know. This is their homeland, after all.”

“That it is.”

Arwen knitted her brow for a brief moment, considering something.

“What would you say to me waxing philosophical for a few moments?”

Elladan turned to her with interest.

“Alright. What is on your mind?”

“It is just that, since our discussion a few weeks ago though, I find myself thinking about the older days more and more, all the time we used to spend in father’s study…”

Arwen’s voice trailed off slightly, but she paused for only a moment.

“…On some level that time seems so far away, when I look at how much has happened for this part of the world. In fact it is almost an entire Age away, and yet I can recall those moments as if they were yesterday. Of the years in between, there are so many moments that I’m sure have faded completely from my mind, but then there are still others that I will always remember.”

Elladan began to hear confusion in his sister’s voice.

“Time itself seems strange… in the way the days pass. It seems I remember every day, each of them, when before I was never aware of them. I watch the children change, see them grow, and so I cannot help but think it is why my view of the world is altered as well…”

“You mean to say that your perception of time, your life, is now measured by the scale of your children’s lives?” Elladan interjected.

Arwen nodded, meeting his eyes. There she saw recognition, understanding of the thoughts she was trying to make sense of.

“That does not seem unreasonable to me.” Elladan leaned forward, distractedly rubbing his beardless cheek as he continued. “From that perspective, it is fitting that time should feel different to you. But I do not think those variations are for you alone. The world itself seems to be changing.” He shook his head as if in defeat. “At first everything was fine, after…”

He did not need to finish the sentence, as they both knew the event to which he referred.

“Peace returned to the land, the Darkness had disappeared… And Elrohir and I were proud to manage Imladris in father’s place. But it is clear to me now, that the Shadow is not the only thing in this world that fades.”

Their people were gradually departing. There was nothing to be done.

“Have you decided, Elladan?”

He answered carefully, surely.

“No. No, Elrohir and I have not made any choice yet.”

Arwen swallowed hard, and for a moment did not know what to say.

“You… you have spoken little of grandfather since you arrived. He must be confronting much the same feelings.”

Though Elladan’s concerned gaze remained on his sister, she looked down at her knees while she spoke. He sighed disconcertedly.

“He… he seems unsettled. He has spent time in Greenwood, in King Thranduil’s court. We have discussed him coming to stay at Imladris, and I think he may accept the offer soon. I am not sure that Lorien has felt much like home to him, of late. In fact, he was preparing to leave again, when we left him.”

Arwen then looked to him, her eyes thoughtful, but sad.

“That is why you arrived here so early?”

Elladan nodded. They were quiet for a few moments, as elements of their discussion began to sink in. There was one subject that Elladan still wanted to raise, but felt the need for caution.

“There is something I have been considering, for the latest weeks of our visit, and I wonder how you would feel about it, given what we have just been speaking of.”

Arwen could not help feeling a little wary.

“We have been busy of late in father’s library,” Elladan continued, “taking stock of the collection, and such matters. I am wondering, since Luthea seems to be taking an interest in history, should I perhaps send some things here?”

“What kind of materials?”

“I am not completely sure yet, mainly journals, record books. Some literature. Duplicates and later editions that might do well for the collection here.”

“Adar’s writings?”

She did not ask what the purpose was for removing such items from Imladris. But then, what would happen to it all, if her brothers did eventually depart?

Elladan nodded. “Some of it is, yes.” He was aware of his sister’s restraint, aware of how quiet she had become since broaching the subject of their father. “Does it bother you?”

Arwen stood carefully, trying not to frown too much, trying not to make this into more than it was. She folded her arms as she glanced back at the portrait in front of them, such a majestic image of the beloved Steward. There were few such images of her own kin to be found in the palace.

“The children know some things about our family, but not all,” she said as she turned back to face her brother. “Truth be told, I am not sure how much I should tell them.”

“You do want them to know of our line?”

“Of course, it is just that… I do not know how I would explain it. Sometimes it is hard enough for me to confront those memories on my own, let alone teach them.” Her voice became quiet. “For Aragorn, it is different, but I am still getting used to the fact that books may be the only way for my children to learn of their heritage.”

Elladan knew she spoke honestly, but could sense there were unspoken thoughts beneath the exterior calm. He rose to stand in front of her.

“I do not mean to force this on you, it was only an idea. But if they do want to learn, discover it for themselves perhaps, it would be there for them?”

Arwen turned her eyes back up to him, and he thought she still hesitated, but her expression cleared a little as she responded.

“Yes. You are right.” She smiled faintly. “Whatever books you choose to send, I’m sure they would help Luthea to develop her language skills. Eldarion would perhaps be interested also.” She thought in silence a moment more. “Yes, it is a good idea.”

Elladan relaxed slightly.

“Good. We will look into it when we return in the fall, then.” He took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. “But books are not the only way my nieces and nephew can learn. Elrohir and I are here. Daeradar is here. Know that we will remain as long as we are needed.”

Arwen nodded.

“I do know.” She looked at him warmly. “And I am glad for it.” She sighed, as if releasing some tension that had gathered during their talk. “How is it that we have now grown so serious, in these peaceful times?”

“I have no easy answer to that. I suppose we must occupy ourselves with something.”

Elladan gave his sister his arm. But as they began to walk back toward the royal wing of the palace, Arwen remained quiet, in thought.

“I do not want to think of him with sadness, Elladan.”

He covered his sister’s hand with one of his own, not quite sure of what else he could say.

“I know, mell muinthel.”

 

***

 

On the same day, the King and his oldest daughter were giving Elrohir a tour of the terrain near the City. Though the sky was cloudy, it was the driest day they had seen in a week’s time.

The princess royal rode ahead, in sight of them, guiding her grey horse around the occasional tree or rut in the ground. From time to time she dipped into the conversation, but for the most part was content to explore on her own. Aragorn and Elrohir kept a more leisurely pace, chatting lightly.

After a time Mírra turned back to her father, saying her horse needed to stretch his legs.

“I think I shall ride just the river’s edge, and come straight back,” she said, pointing in the direction of the Anduin, which was just in sight.

Aragorn nodded his assent.

“Do watch out near the water though – the ground is still quite muddy from the rain this week.”

“Of course.” She appeared to give a slight roll of her eyes, but smiled. “You two are simply too slow for us today,” she said as she patted her horse’s mane.

Elrohir could only try to suppress a laugh as his niece galloped off.

“It is disappointing the day is not finer,” Aragorn sighed. “We had been having such a warm spring until now.”

“Mírra’s enthusiasm for riding, though, seems undiminished by the weather,” replied Elrohir. They watched her race away comfortably across the grassy terrain, her grey cloak matching the colour of her horse’s coat.

“I think she hopes to catch a glimpse by the river, of Eldarion’s party. He is expected to return this afternoon.”

“Excellent, I look forward to asking him about his travels.”

“You are right about Mírra’s enthusiasm, though, she has always been eager for the outdoors.” said the King in agreement. “She was a welcome guest of the Steward of Gondor and his Lady, earlier in the season,” he added almost as an aside.

A smile crossed Elrohir’s face.

“Yes, she recounted her journey to me, with much excitement.”

“For the past year she has talked of almost nothing but seeing new places. I had thought to have her wait until she turned seventeen, but it seems that the court could not match the prospect of an outdoor adventure, for her.”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” said the Elf-lord, “When you were the age she is now, you could not wait to escape father’s study, when you had the chance to go on patrols with us.”

“I do know what it is to want to see the places in the maps, to want to do more than read about other lands. But even though I know Eldarion would rather be outside than studying, he still undertakes his learning diligently. Lúthea, she always seems to have something to occupy herself with, is happy in any part of the palace.” Aragorn gave another sigh. “But Mírra… it seems no amount of activity in the palace can tempt her away from the stables, from the river, from the mountainside.”

“Perhaps she simply needs more time, she is young yet,” Elrohir reasoned.

“That is just what Arwen keeps telling me.”

“But is it so terrible, for one so young to not know of her path?” The Elf-lord shrugged. “She says she wants only to travel, to ride. So perhaps it may happen that one of those journeys will lead her to the right path. You can only guide her until she finds it.”

Aragorn was silent for a thoughtful moment, before he responded.

“Perhaps it is because our paths were chosen for us, that I wonder so much about this. We had so few choices to make in the courses of our own lives.”

Elrohir’s expression became oddly calm.

“It was a different time. That much is certain.”

“And for that I am glad. I would never want them to face what we faced.”

“We did what we did, so that they would not have to.”

Both riders were now quiet, as a cool wind came about their ears. In the distance, they could see Mírra just beginning to return.

“You are still in good communication with Annúminas?” Aragorn asked at length.

Elrohir nodded, lifted his eyebrows just a little.

“I wondered when you would ask about that.”

“Can you blame me for not wanting to talk business for the entire length of your visit?”

“No, of course not,” grinned the Elf-lord. “Yes, there is steady news, and the city is becoming more stable. It seems that with each year the Northern people grow more comfortable with the idea of having a capital again.”

“To say nothing of the fact that Imladris will not be so overrun with Dúnedain, returning from expeditions?”

“On the contrary, muindor, it means we are constantly wanting for dinner conversation.” His eyes glinted mischievously. “The Edain may not be skilled minstrels, but they tell wild stories.”

The King laughed.

“You seem to recall enough to make up for it.”

As Mírra at last approached, they became quiet again, though something in Aragorn’s countenance seemed to have lifted.

“You are still too slow,” said the princess as she returned, breathless and exuberant. “What have you been talking of so seriously?”

Elrohir spoke first, and took the opportunity to attempt to lighten their discussion.

“Ah, it is only business. Methinks you are working too hard, Estel.”

Aragorn sat up a little straighter, responded in a similar vein.

“One does not rebuild a kingdom overnight, Elrohir. Perhaps it is rather that my kinsmen in Arnor are not busy enough?”

Elrohir gave a silent smirk in reply.

“Why does he call you that, father?” Mírra interjected, recognising a name her uncles had used much over the last few weeks.

Aragorn gave a sidelong glance to his brother-in-law.

“That name is how I was first known to Elladan and Elrohir, before I was told of my heritage.”

“Ah, do not listen to him,” said the Elf-lord with a wink at his niece, “It is because your father has so many names, I can only remember the simplest one.”

“I didn’t think ‘Your Highness’ was so hard to remember?”

Mírra laughed aloud.

“I see it is still muddy by the water, judging by the state of your clothes…” observed Elrohir.

Mírra looked down and saw the splatters of mud across her boots and hem of her dress. Her cheeks became even more pink than they had been after her brief race.

“…or perhaps the little girl I remember from my last visit, who was always getting mud on her skirts, has not changed so very much?”

“But at least my skirts are proper and courtly, now,” she winked back.

 

*******

**Footnotes:**

Translations (Sindarin):

daeradar = grandfather  
mell muinthel = dear sister  
muindor = brother


	7. Gifts and Partings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

“Oh Mírra, it’s lovely, it suits you so well.”

Lúthea admired the necklace her sister had just received as a birthday gift from her uncles. It was very like a bracelet she herself had been given when she had turned twelve in the early days of their visit. The chain and setting were of finest silver, and set in the centre was a crystal of amethyst.

Elladan had helped to fasten the chain around Mírra's neck, and she fingered the stone as she grew accustomed to the weight of it.

“I hardly ever consider jewelry,” Mírra said after a moment, her expression brightening, “but I do think I like this piece.”

The violet crystal was only the size of coin, but many of the crystal faces had been polished smooth without overly rounding the edges, retaining a certain quality of imperfection in its natural beauty.

“I am pleased to hear it then,” smiled Elladan.

“And now we match, you see,” Lúthea displayed her bracelet, in which a series of much tinier, more well-shaped lavender stones were linked in the same silver setting.

“So we do. Do you think will impress all the young men now?” she teased.

The younger girl blushed but could not help giggling.

Mírra returned her sister’s smile, and turned and stepped to where her mother and father were sitting with Elenna, to show off her new trinket. Arwen reached out a hand in appraisal.

Lúthea’s attention soon turned to a wooden box on the table.

“May we play?” She asked hopefully.

Elladan bemusedly turned his grey eyes to his niece.

“Dominoes again?”

She nodded, biting back a grin.

“Alright then, but with only two of us you will surely best me immediately.”

They began to tip out the white tiles on to the table, to turn over the blank sides.

All were aware that there were only a few weeks lingering of the Elf-lords’ visit, though no one spoke of it.

“Perhaps Elrohir can play too?”

“I think he is quite occupied with something else at the moment,” said Elladan wryly, with a glance to the other side of the room.

Elrohir and Eldarion sat facing each other, both bent intently over a chessboard between them.

“Ada shall play then,” Lúthea decided, crossing to the sofa. She had to plead with Aragorn for only a few moments, before the King left Elenna with Arwen and Mírra, and came over to join his daughter at the table.

“Alright then,” he said lightly, rubbing his hands together, “you shall have to remind me of the rules.”

“That can be done, I’m sure,” returned Elladan, “but I do not think that will help our odds against our opponent here.”

Lúthea tried not to look satisfied. “You must choose ten pieces with which to start,” she explained.

As they began the game, Elladan gave a nod to his brother and nephew. “Perhaps next time we meet, I shall teach you chess?”

Aragorn observed his daughter consider this offer.

“Maybe. But for now I should like something that is not so perplexing.”

The King winked. “A wise decision, sell nîn.”

 

 

The prince and his uncle indeed had a serious air about them, as they continued their own game. Eldarion leaned his chin on his hand as he considered what piece he would move next. Elrohir watched calmly, with arms folded.

Eldarion stretched out his other hand over one piece, let it hover there for a moment.

“Be certain that is the best move, before you make it,” said Elrohir.

“I have not touched any piece yet,” countered Eldarion, raising an eyebrow.

He withdrew his hand and thought in silence for a little while more, before finally deciding to move a pawn forward. It was then his turn to sit back with folded arms, while he waited for his uncle to complete his next move.

“Have you given any thought to my offer?” said Elrohir, eyes still on the game board.

“I have, yes,” replied Eldarion, with a short nod. “I must admit I would like to see Arnor, and the work at Annúminas. The patrols you describe sound intriguing.”

“But not intriguing enough, by the sound of things?”

Eldarion leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t know. I keep thinking there is more I need to see in the South, before I can devote time in the North. Adar has told me much though, of the years when he rode with you and Elladan.”

The Elf-lord nodded. “Even now, orcs still prove to be a challenge in the mountains, but the times are not as desperate as they once were, fortunately.”

Elrohir sat up again, ignoring the game for the moment.

“The work in South Ithilien is going well, then?”

“This spring was very successful, I think. We regained substantial control of this side of the Ephel Duath, and the White Company’s reach now extends firmly all the way to the Poros.”

“That is advantageous indeed.”

“We would like it to extend farther of course, but it is best to keep hold of the territory over the winter, make sure it is secure before trying to challenge for more.”

“A sound decision, I think.” Elrohir observed his nephew with something touching appraisal. “I must say I am pleased to hear the news of that province, from you. We have constant news from Osgiliath and Emyn Arnen, but mostly touching on the restoration work. I often wonder what the reports are missing, when they do not come directly from those who are in the middle of the action.”

“Then I shall write and tell you as much as I can.”

“I would look forward to that,” replied Elrohir with a smile. “Do you think you will be spending much time there next spring as well?”

Eldarion pondered this. “I am not sure yet. Father has been in much correspondence with Rohan the last few months. I think a journey there next year will be inevitable for him.”

“For you also, then?”

Eldarion nodded.

“Well,” continued Elrohir, “That will certainly provide more opportunity for you to explore the South.”

“You are right on that account.” The prince paused. “It is not that Arnor is not intriguing. I have given it much thought.”

“You need not trouble yourself over it,” replied Elrohir, “it will still be there in another year, or two, or ten, what ever decision you come to.”

The Elf-lord turned his attention back to the chessboard, and within a moment had completed his move.

“And now it is your turn,” he said with a nod to the prince.

“So it is.”

 

***

 

“It still seems as though you just arrived,” said Arwen as she embraced her older brother, just inside the city gates.

“And here I was worried we would overstay our welcome,” replied Elladan.

“You know that is not possible.”

“Your visit has been most welcome indeed,” added Aragorn, bidding his own farewell to Elrohir, then to Elladan.

All too soon, it seemed, the warmth of summer had made way for the burning colours of autumn. But by all accounts the Elf-lords’ visit had been a success.

“Your journey will again take you through Lorien?” asked the King.

“We may winter there, if it suits our grandfather,” replied Elladan.

“You will tell him that Arwen and I send our regards?”

“Of course, he will be pleased to hear our tales of this summer, no doubt.”

Arwen took her turn to say goodbye to her other brother.

“One summer or another, we must host you.”

It was not the first time Elrohir had mentioned this, but Arwen did not want to debate with him now.

“When Elenna has grown older, perhaps.”

Elrohir gave a brief nod. “I understand.”

They embraced tightly, as Elrohir spoke over her shoulder.

“Promise you will not stay away for too long? Imladris is lonely without you.”

“I promise.”

As they separated, Arwen turned to see Lúthea arrive with Eldarion, to say their own goodbyes.

Elladan bent to give Lúthea a tight hug, making her giggle.

“We will soon send you many books to keep you busy for months on end,” said the Elf-lord with a slight twinkle in his eye.

“I will like that very much.”

Elladan caught his sister’s eye just then, saw her nod in approval.

Elrohir shook Eldarion’s hand, and they appeared to be in deep conversation for a few moments.

“But where are my other nieces?” inquired Elladan.

As if on cue, Mírra soon met up with them, holding Elenna on her arm.

“Not a moment too soon,” said Elrohir.

“I am sorry,” said the oldest princess, “but the walk through the palace is quite slow, when one of us keeps getting distracted.” She tilted her head pointedly to her littlest sister.

Mírra let Elenna down, and she scurried over to her uncles, only to be swept up by Elladan.

“We could not leave without bidding you farewell, of course,” he said with a grin, which was returned brightly by Elenna.

Mírra stepped over to kiss her uncles goodbye.

“Be sure to keep your skirts clean, young lady,” said Elrohir, only half-serious.

“Of course I will not,” laughed Mírra.

After a few final words from everyone, and hearty handshakes all around, the horses were brought around, and Elladan and Elrohir assembled with their party.

“Navaer, my lords,” said Aragorn.

“Until next time,” said Elrohir, adding only a brief glance to his sister.

Arwen smiled, and waved as they turned their horses around, and rode through the city gates. The late morning sun was high over the city as the party rode out.

Although the children soon drifted back to the palace, having seen their uncles depart, Arwen remained outside the gate. Aragorn stayed with her, as she stretched her eyes to see them ride out of sight.

He laid a hand on her back, and she found she was grateful for his touch.

“It is only until next time, undomiel.”

“I know.” She turned her gaze to him, tried to keep the melancholy she felt from showing too much. “But after such a summer, the autumn and winter will seem bare indeed.”

They turned, and Aragorn took Arwen’s hand as they slowly made their way back from the city’s edge.

Though Arwen was quiet as they walked, he felt her squeeze his hand tightly.

 

***

 

“Mírra, I am getting cold, may we go back to the palace now?”

Lúthea, pulling her cloak tightly around her and clutching a bundle close under her arm, caught up with her sister at one of the market stalls. The older princess had stopped to look at some silver jewelry, but although she closely examined a few pieces, nothing tempted her.

As Lúthea came up next to her, they turned together and walked out into the open air of the city. The younger princess still came only to her sister’s shoulder.

“But it was you who wanted to come to the market in the first place.”

“I know, but now I want to get this home, and nicely wrapped,” said the younger girl anxiously.

“You could have sent someone to get it, if you did not want to come out in the snow yourself.”

“Yes, but then I would not have been able to make sure myself that it was just right.” She took her parcel in both hands. “Do you think Eldarion will like this gift?  
  
For her brother’s upcoming birthday, Lúthea had selected a set of pens and inks.

“It is not the gift itself that matters, he will be happy that you thought about it so much.”

Lúthea looked down again at the parcel in her hands.

“All the same, I hope he likes it. Thank you for taking me to the market.”

“You’re welcome.” It was not as if Mírra needed an excuse to go out.

They continued to make their way through the streets, snow under their feet. Minas Tirith was much quieter in the winter, the market less crowded. They passed only a few other shoppers on their way.

Large, fluffy white flakes of snow drifted down to the girls’ sable cloaks, down to augment what had already collected on the ground.

Just as they came near to the Citadel, Mírra stopped and turned her face upward, to try and catch a snowflake in her mouth. As she tilted her head back, the hood of her cloak fell down to her shoulders, exposing loose, dark hair.

Lúthea turned back as she saw her sister had paused.

“What are you doing? More are landing in your hair than on your tongue.”

Mírra righted herself. “So? This is the best part about winter.”

“If only we could have the snow, without the cold.”

“I rather think the snow makes the cold better.”

“Even though our noses are red, and we will be sniffling if we stay out for much longer?”

“Yes, even so.”

“I do not understand you sometimes.”

“Ha. Good.”

Lúthea shook her head. “Come on, let us get back.”

“Just a few more.”

Mírra took a few steps forward, but turned her face up again, to catch a few more snowflakes.

Lúthea, waiting patiently, noticed one of the Citadel guards observing the two of them. She thought she had been mistaken, but as he turned his face away to resume his formal posture, she saw him blush slightly. He was quite young, perhaps a year or two younger than her brother.

“Alright.” Mírra pulled her hood back up and brushed snow off her cloak as she joined her sister again.

As they entered the Citadel, Lúthea glanced back briefly towards the young guard.

“What?” Mírra, curious, looked at her sister, then to the Citadel entrance and back again. “What is it?”

“I saw that guard looking at you, though he should not be,” Lúthea smiled, “I saw his cheeks turn pink as he looked away.”

“You are exaggerating… why would any man look at me?”

Lúthea shrugged, then a sudden grin crossed her face.

“Maybe he likes winter also.”

Mírra poked her sister, feeling somewhere between appalled and flattered.

“Come on, you.”

She took Lúthea’s free hand and led them quickly back toward the palace. Before long both of them were giggling as they ran.

 

***

 

“Show me the section on Calembel again?”

A few weeks later, Mírra and Eldarion sat in the study, poring over maps.

“I’m not sure why it matters, father will surely want take the West Road when we go to Edoras.”

“Even still.”

Eldarion flipped a few pages.

“It’s just near the intersection of Ringló and Ciril. The watch tower is set on the hill, facing south, but in sight of both river crossings.”

Mírra leaned over the page to better take in the details in the illustration.

“But there is a road there, it goes right through Calembel and up toward Erech. Could we not just as well go that way?”

“I think so, but it would mean first following the Anduin far south out of Minas Tirith, before we could join with the south road. It would extend our journey by at least four days.”

“The West Road is more direct, then.”

Eldarion nodded.

As they continued to pore over the pages, they were soon joined in the study by their father, whose entrance was followed by a delivery of letters.

The King greeted his two oldest children, and sat down to look at the newest pieces of correspondence.

Eldarion’s gaze drifted across the room. He could not help noticing his father frowning at the paper in front of him.

“Is there bad news?” he called out.

Aragorn looked up, as Eldarion left Mírra to join him at his desk.

“No, nothing bad. But the communication with Éomer is becoming more pressing. I begin to think that it will only hold things up, to wait until spring to meet with him.”

“You’re not reconsidering?” Mírra, listening intently, crossed the room to join the two men. She had been looking forward to seeing Edoras for months now.

Aragorn tried to answer as simply as he could. “Not reconsidering, but I would not have you travel while the weather is so unfriendly.”

“But I went with you to Ithilien last year, while it was still winter.”

“I know it, mír nîn, but crossing the Anduin to see Emyn Arnen and crossing country to go to Rohan are different matters entirely.”

Eldarion thought of a solution.

“If you do need to go to Rohan now, would it not be possible for Mírra and I to follow in a month or two, when the weather warms?”

Aragorn scratched his beard as he looked up at his son and daughter – grown now, but still able to unite for their own interests as they had done as children.

“That is certainly an option.”

Mírra brightened. “I would not mind it at all.”

“Alright, I will consider it,” said Aragorn, having a hard time keeping his face straight. “Now be off with you, or I can see I will get nothing done.”

“Anything you say, adar,” said Eldarion smoothly.

Mírra took up the atlas before they left the study.

“Do you think he will permit us to have our own excursion?” she said conspiratorially after they were well out of earshot.

“If I can lead my own patrols in Ithilien, I see no reason why I cannot escort you to Edoras,” Eldarion replied, out of the corner of his mouth.

Mírra could not help smiling. “This may turn out to be more fun than I thought.”

 

***

 

That night, even after all was set in order, the letters sent and the arrangements made, while Aragorn lay in bed he still could not let his mind release from the plans that had been made over the last few days. It always seemed to be like this, before he left on long journeys.

Arwen’s voice brought him away from his thoughts.

“You are wondering if you have forgotten something?”

She stood from where she had bent near the fireplace to add one last piece of wood to the fire. The warmth it passed about the room was almost enough to make them forget winter’s remaining cold.

He let out a sigh, rubbed one hand over tired eyes.

“I do not know what I am wondering about. I know everything has been well planned, I should stop thinking on it.”

Arwen came over to the bed, having already undressed to only her robe. She stepped on her knees across the covers, before laying herself comfortably against him. He could discern the familiar scent of lavender as she came close.

“It is what Eldarion and Mírra will do without your supervision, perhaps?”

Aragorn pondered this question for a moment. He brought down the hand that had been resting behind his head, to finger the sleeve of her robe.

“They will be up to mischief in my absence, I am sure.” He was only half teasing, knowing full well how pleased their two older children were to be planning an expedition of their own. “But I wonder if they are disappointed that I asked them to wait.”

“They will be happy to see Edoras, even if they will not go with you yet.”

Arwen crossed her arms on his chest, chin resting on one hand, while the other began to stroke lazily across the skin exposed by his open night-shirt. With the tip of an index finger she traced a small scar just near his shoulder. It had come from a knife-blade, years ago, he told her once.

For a quiet moment their eyes met, depths of smoke and slate.

Aragorn reached both hands out to the sides of her face, touching silken dark hair. He felt how calm she had become.

“You would rather I did not go,” he said after a time.

“I have not said that,” she replied, blinking heavily.

He tilted his head slightly, unbelieving.

“I suppose it is only that, in the last year, things have been so good here, so settled. I have grown so accustomed to having you here.”

“You could come as well, join me with Eldarion and Mírra?” Though he offered, he knew what her answer to this would be.

“Ah, but I fear Lúthea and Elenna would not forgive us if we both left them for three months,” she smiled leisurely, “And I would miss them terribly, I cannot deny it.”

“More so than me?”

“Hmm…” she pondered jokingly, fingers still teasing across his skin, “it is debatable.”

Dark eyes looked back at him as his fingers drifted down to push hair behind her ears. Letting his fingertips linger there for a brief moment, he traced the delicately pointed tips – the features he hated to see hidden.

“And now you’ve become serious on me,” said Aragorn quietly.

She slid her hand underneath his open shirt, across his rib cage. Beneath her touch, she felt his heartbeat begin to quicken ever so slightly.

“Not so very serious.”

Regarding her for a moment more, he took her face in his hands and guided her lips forward to meet hers. As he released her, she let her tongue slide over each of his lips in turn, feeling the soft moist skin outlined by the contrast of his rough whiskers.

After a languid pause, Arwen made to put out the candle on the table beside the bed, but was stopped by a quick motion from Aragorn.

“Do not put it out yet, meleth-nîn.”

Arwen turned back to him with a little curiosity. She thought she caught a glimmer in his eye, but it could have been the candlelight.

“No?”

“No, for I want to see you.” He smiled invitingly.

“I think it will be warmer for me under here,” she whispered, turning up the edge of the coverlet, “…for both of us.”

As he drew back the covers, Arwen crept underneath to nestle close to him, his body warm next to hers.

“Mm, how right you are,” he replied as he wrapped her in both the blankets and his own arms.

 

*******

**Footnotes:**

Translations (Sindarin):

ada = dad/daddy (adar = father)  
sell nîn = my daughter  
navaer = farewell  
mír nîn = my jewel  



	8. Swiftly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

Eldarion rose from his seat in the study, to return the volume of Rohan history that he had been reading. For the last few weeks he and Brennan had discussed plans for the coming journey, possible routes to take.

He knew how unusual it was, to be taking the South Road. The regular path was much more predictable, with towns regularly spaced along the northern side of the White Mountains, well accustomed to hosting travellers. But the south way seemed more adventurous, and Mírra even seemed excited at the prospect of striking camp, instead of lodging at the formal resting places for Royal parties.

Although, it was to see a certain place on the southern route that was first in Eldarion’s mind, even if he did not admit it aloud.

As he returned to the table, his eyes went to the same map that had been open all afternoon and evening, the one with Erech at the center.

He wondered about the shadow-men, if the tales were true. He wondered if the stone really was as round as a globe, and if it had come indeed from Númenor, from the sky as was passed down in the tales.

At length he closed the book of maps, and set it aside, collecting the miscellaneous papers into their leather folders. The quill pen he set back on its wooden rest, and he stoppered the ink bottle.

Eldarion turned down the lamp-lights, leaving only the torches burning on the walls. He took a brief glance at the study that had been his alone for the last few months. It was strange, thinking of it as his space.

Though he was perfectly well aware of the late hour, he had no desire to go to his chambers yet.

Occasionally a guard nodded in respect as he passed them by, but for the most part the city was quiet after nightfall. Eldarion enjoyed the quiet. Walking through the Citadel, he realised how cool the nights still were, even with the new days of spring.

He found himself heading towards the centre of the Citadel, and whether it was subconscious or no, his path took him to the garden of the White Tree.

Upon arriving, he found he was not alone.

“You do not wish to retire early either, I see,” said the Queen as she saw her son enter.

If Eldarion was surprised to see his mother, he did not show it, but calmly smiled as he sat down amiably beside her on the bench. Arwen was wrapped comfortably in a heavy mantle, warm against the cool evening air.

“What is it about preparing for a journey that keeps me from being able to relax?”

“Things look well, then?”

Eldarion nodded. “They do. If the weather remains fine for the next week, I think it will be safe to depart.”

“Mírra has talked to me of almost nothing else lately, she is quite anxious to see the rest of the country.”

“Oh?” Eldarion lifted an eyebrow. “She has not seemed interested in the planning of it, although I have often invited her to contribute.”

“I think it is not the planning, but the doing that most interests your sister.” Arwen shrugged a little. “But she knows you are capable. She trusts you.”

Eldarion accepted this with a nod, and folded his arms as he settled back.

Arwen glanced sidelong at her son. He was so like his father, so very like him; already as tall as Aragorn, perhaps even a few inches taller. Even more pronounced was the air of contemplation that hung about the prince as he prepared to travel.

Mother and son both turned dark grey eyes to the tree in front of them, watching it glow softly with silver light. It was indeed quiet in the Citadel, even peaceful. Arwen slipped an arm though Eldarion’s. If contemplation was in order, then two would certainly be better than one.

“I am glad to have your company, ion nîn,” Arwen said with a calm smile.

 

***

 

As warm days of spring arrived, so did the day of departure. Mírra’s belongings were already set, and she lingered for a few moments in her chambers, caught up in small details at the last minute.

She still had done nothing to tidy her hair, and rushed to find something on her dresser that would do.

Pausing in the middle of the room, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. Suddenly she wondered why she had been rushing so much.

She had let her hair become even longer, and though it could still be just as difficult to contain, somehow she did not mind the lingering untidiness anymore. The young woman she saw in the mirror did not seem to mind it either, and let her dark hair fall over her shoulders, over her equally dark, sable-black cloak. How finely dressed she was.

Mírra smiled, to herself. Her mother was right; clothes were simply clothes, hair was simply hair. No matter where she would journey, none of those things needed to be important.

Just then there was a knock at the door, a reminder.

“I’ll be right there, I’m almost ready.”

Just before she made ready to leave, Mírra crossed to her dressing table and took up a leather tie. In a brief moment her hair was secured in a queue behind her head. It was not exactly sleek, or particularly tidy, but practical enough for a long day of riding.

“This is who you are, what are you afraid of?” She told the mirror as she turned.

As she took up her gloves, she caught another glimpse of her reflection.

Before she left, she saw her reflection smile back, a faint blush of pink on her cheeks.

 

***

 

Brennan gathered with Eldarion and Mírra and the remainder of their escort near the city gates, as the stable hands made ready the horses.

“Ah, hello my speedy friend,” Mírra greeted her horse, a black mare.

“Are you sure you would not like a different horse?” Eldarion asked his sister, a little bemused.

“No, I am happy with this one. She will take me swiftly across country,” the princess replied as she stroked the horse’s dark mane.

“Fast is not always best, you know.”

“It suits me just fine, thank you,” came the slightly haughty response.

Just then Lúthea arrived with Arwen, to say her goodbyes. Eldarion leaned down to hug his littler sister.

“You shall remember everything you see on your way?” Lúthea asked him. “Promise to tell me all?”

“We shall,” Mírra replied.

Arwen kissed Eldarion on the cheek, and held him at arm’s length for a moment. “Watch out for your sister?”

“Of course, naneth,” he smiled.

Goodbyes said, the riders mounted, and waved.

Mírra looked up over her head as they passed through the great gate, watching the city fall behind them. She could feel her heart beating unexpectedly quickly, suddenly feeling a rush of exhilaration.

“What direction now, Eldarion?”

The prince sat up tall in his saddle and motioned with a straight wave of his arm.

“Let us go south.”

 

***

 

The beginning of their journey was favoured with bright skies and warm sunshine. It had not rained for weeks, and only recently melted snow had dampened the ground. Green grass was everywhere, and the trees proudly displayed fresh new leaves.

Though some formality was kept by the small escort, with one or two men carrying simple banners of the White Tree, an air of relaxed calm settled over the group as they rode. The prince and princess most often stayed side by side, and although Mírra seemed eager to keep up a fast pace, she contributed to steady conversation whenever possible.

“Spring truly is the best time to ride. I am now so glad we did not go all this way in the snow.”

“I agree with you easily on that count,” replied Eldarion. “I hope that Edoras will appeal to you, when we arrive.”

“It appeals to me already – Rohan is a country of horse-lords, is it not?” Mírra winked.

“How could I forget?”

“But I still do not understand how we are different from the Rohirrim. We share such close borders with them, and Arnor too, yet they are not of our descent?” Mírra wrinkled her nose in puzzlement.

“Did you not learn this by now?” Eldarion said in surprise.

“That is easy for you to say, it is your job to know these things.”

“And how, pray tell, should that make it easier to remember?”

Mírra clucked her tongue once in mock exasperation at her brother, and turned to their companion.

“Perhaps you can enlighten me then, since he is unwilling?”

Brennan shook his head in a smile before replying.

“It is not entirely true that Gondor and Rohan are not of the same descent,” he said evenly, “Éorl was of Rhóvanion, but of Eldacar’s line, so there is some common blood between us.”

Mírra did not seem assuaged. “But Rhóvanion is far north, nowhere near the borders of Rohan.”

“Éorl and his folk came from there in aid to Gondor,” Eldarion added. “Not very long ago in history, if I recall my dates correctly.”

“Yes, it has been little more than five centuries,” Brennan interjected. “At that time Gondor was invaded by Easterlings, and also Orcs out of the Misty Mountains. Éorl came to Gondor’s aid, and in gratitude his people were granted the plains of Calenardhon.”

Mírra began to work this out in her head. “The region between Anduin… and the Isen?”

“Exactly,” smiled Eldarion. “You might just be a student yet, Mírra.”

“Ah, I think I will leave that to you and Lúthea, if you please.”

The princess took a firmer hold of the reins in her hand, taking a moment to scout out the countryside around them. They had moved into a more open section, with trees distributed fairly sparsely near the road.

Eldarion saw his sister’s heightened observation, as she separated herself slightly from the party.

“Do you see something?”

“No…” she replied, “only that large oak, that is a nice distance away, for two horses to race to?”

Eldarion raised an eyebrow. “It could be…”

“Come on, just once? After that I promise to fall in with the party.”

The prince, despite all his attempts at formality, could not resist the challenge. Soon the two horses galloped swiftly away, their riders laughing on the wind.

Brennan chuckled to himself, as the pair of them took off.

“And we haven’t even made it to Edoras yet.”

 

***

 

After a little more than a week of riding, they at last arrived at Calembel upon Ciril. Though the settlement was little more than a watch tower, many folk now lived below the hill, near the river.

Some eager faces appeared from houses to observe their arrival; they were not an imposing group by any means, yet still easily identifiable by the silver and sable dress of the Royal City.

 

On the second morning, their last morning there, Eldarion woke early, just before the rise of the sun. He did not truly need to be up for another hour or more, but his mind would not seem to let him rest. There were only two days of riding left for their journey, but he did not think he would truly relax until they reached Edoras.

Dressing warmly against the cool morning air, Eldarion stepped out to the long walkway that joined the two parapets of the watch tower.

One there, he saw his sister had also risen to watch the sun rise. Mírra was sitting at the top the staircase leading down from the walkway. She sat on the top step with her knees tucked up, her cloak wrapped comfortably around her entire body.

There was a touch of fatigue around her eyes, but she was noticeably content and calm as she looked out at the early morning sky.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who was eager to start the day,” Eldarion called out as he joined his sister on the steps.

Mírra’s mouth curled in a half-smile.

“I could not miss the sun, with such a view.” She gave a nod to the countryside before them. “You’re right, you really can see both river crossings.”

The town was situated below them, closer to the water, but from the elevated position on the hill, the tower at Calembel indeed offered an excellent view of the river Ciril as it flowed to meet Ringló.

The rising sun cast a soft, rose-orange glow throughout the sky, highlighting the clouds that hung low on the horizon.

“The clouds make the sunrise so lovely.”

“Yes…” said Eldarion slowly. “As long as they do not bring rain with them.”

“That would be unpleasant to ride in, I think.”

“Aha, so your enthusiasm for the outdoors is not boundless, after all,” he teased. In return he received a hard elbow to the arm.

“I am most definitely enjoying myself,” she grinned. “I am so glad we came this way.”

“I am, too.”

“Will we make it to Erech by tomorrow?” Mírra asked her brother.

“Most likely. We will certainly be at Edoras by the third night, barring any bad weather.’

“It is just as well we are leaving so early today then, to get a good start for the last leg.”

“Mm.”

Almost involuntarily, Mírra yawned deeply. She blinked quickly a few times, shaking herself into alertness.

“Well. We should make ready to leave then, if we have such a long ride ahead of us.”

“Oh, there is no need yet. Stay for the moment.” Eldarion held out a hand just as Mírra began to rise, but she settled back down again. “Really, I don’t think I’ve paid attention to enough sunrises lately.”

He rested an elbow on his knee, holding his chin on one hand. As they watched, the sky brightened noticeably.

Eldarion absentmindedly scratched his cheek. He had not shaved since they’d left home, as often happened when he travelled. Somehow he had become accustomed to it, though it was for practicality more than anything else.

He suddenly caught Mírra looking at him with a wry smile. “What, what are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” she replied, eyes sparkling, “You just look different with a beard, that’s all.”

“Bad?”

“No. You look more like father.”

 

***

 

The ride towards Erech was fairly uneventful. It was only as they went through the pass of Tarlang’s Neck that the terrain became steeper and rockier, but on the second day it again became green and temperate. That night they again struck camp near the mountains, just before coming to the hill of Erech.

The third morning dawned with a dim, grey light. More clouds had drifted in overnight, and where there should have been sunrise there was now only haze.

As the final day of their journey began, there was a mixture of calm relief and excitement amongst the small company, and all rose early. Only Eldarion remained quiet, as they saddled the horses and made ready to leave.

Brennan knew of the prince’s interest in the nearby site, but was cautious in raising discussion of it. It was unspoken, yet understood, that the morning would bring a visit to Erech.

As they rode to the hill, Mírra observed her brother’s expression, but she could not read it. He seemed more intent than she had ever seen him, but only as if masking thoughts he was afraid to let surface.

 

 

The hill was high indeed, rounding up out of the ground, a precursor to the mountains nearby.

The prince dismounted, leaving the company to wait below. Mírra and Brennan approached also on foot, but kept their distance.

“Isildur’s stone,” Brennan observed quietly, with a nod in its direction.

Unearthly it did seem, impossibly round, and as tall as a grown man were it not sunk part way into the ground.

But there were no shadows here, only green grass that rippled in the wind, only silent sky. There was no mystery in such an open place.

Mírra watched Eldarion put a hand out to the stone’s surface. Its texture seemed like granite, and yet darker than anything she had seen. The prince seemed transfixed by it, until he let go, and stood back. She could not help but approach him then, her voice soft.

“What is it, Eldarion? You look strange.”

He turned away from the stone and took a deep breath in pause, raising his hand briefly to his forehead.

“I cannot explain it, but now I do not know why I wanted to be here so much.”

Eldarion went a few paces down the hill, taking in the sight of the town below. His expression was unreadable but for the knot in his brow, and his dark eyes were doubtful.

“I do not know anymore, what I expected to find here.”

Mírra stepped forward to go near him once again, but something in his posture made her hold back for a moment.

The wind was beginning to pick up again, blowing cool air in her ears. What should have been blue sky was covered in clouds that were still light, but threatened to darken. She thought she felt a speck of water land on her cheek, but none followed it.

She pulled her hood up over her ears and went to lay a hand on her brother’s arm.

“Eldarion…” He did not turn immediately, still distracted by his contemplation. The wind blew strands of dark hair over his face. “Should we not depart?”

He regarded her for a moment, and gave a nod in assent. They made their way back to the horses, a pall of something uncomfortable having descended on their company.

 

***

 

“The rain is coming heavier, we will not be able to avoid it,” Eldarion called out. A gust of wind came up just then, so that they had to keep hold of their cloaks.

“You’re not suggesting we should go back to Erech?” Mírra asked. “It has been open country for the last ten miles, we will fare no better if we do.”

Mírra shivered. Although she had found little to complain about until now, the weather was certainly not on their side.

Brennan brought his horse around to come closer to the prince and princess.

“No, I would not advise that. But the Morthond is very near. If we can cross now, then the mountains may shelter us for the rest of the ride.”

“That is precisely what I would suggest,” Eldarion added in agreement. “If it means we make camp there until tomorrow, and delay our arrival at Edoras, then so be it, but we must make it to the mountains.”

Brennan almost spoke again, but held back, still thinking on something.

“Does something concern you?” The prince asked him.

“It is only the matter of where to cross. We could ride north, closer to the Vale, or go slightly farther south.”

Eldarion considered their options.

“The southerly crossing would be farther out of the valley, and not as steep an access.” He saw Brennan nod. “I think I would prefer that, although it is perhaps five miles out of the way.”

The three of them were all squinting against the rain. Mírra raised the cuff of a sleeve to wipe her wet face.

“Well, we are certainly not getting drier, the longer we debate it,” she said firmly, trying not to let her discomfort show, though it was growing difficult.

Eldarion nodded to the two of them, and looked around to rally the rest of their small party.

“Right. The Morthond should not be far from here. I shall lead.”

 

 

They made as good time as could be expected, but the rain continued unabated. Although it was only midday, the sky was covered with unfriendly grey clouds, that only grew more unfriendly with each mile they gained.

“The sky seems to grow darker by the minute.” Mírra felt her cloak heavy on her shoulders, now soaked wet.

Eldarion remained austere. “If we can just make it past the river, then things will improve. Storms often pass quickly.”

“I hope so.”

As if to spite them, the quickest flash of white light spread across the horizon. It was followed by a low rumble, signifying that this storm had no intention of passing quickly.

Mírra’s shoulders sank, and she could not help letting her forehead fall into her gloved hand as she dipped her head. Would nothing go in their favour? Her horse, startled by the flash of lightning, shook its bridle awkwardly.

“I only wish right now we could be of this weather, Eldarion,” she said weakly, no longer able to hide the frustration in her voice.

“I know.” Surprisingly, his voice was gentle, and it made her turn. She began to realise then, how much must have been resting on his shoulders, for the last leg of their journey. “That is the only thought in my mind at present, but all that is left is for us to make it over this crossing, and then the mountains will shelter us.”

Mírra drew in a breath to steady herself, and wiped rain off her face again. “Alright.”

 

 

When they reached the crossing, it was apparent that the bridge itself had not been maintained in recent years. But although the railings looked shabby in places, there was nothing to suggest it was unsound.

The Morthond was deep and flowing fast, the water level already high from melted snow and the quickly falling rain.

“I shall cross last, after everyone else is safe on the other side,” Eldarion called out, his voice loud against the wind. Brennan and Mírra seemed to hesitate, but the prince remained firm. “Go now, the longer we wait, the worse this storm becomes.”

He kept his voice steady, not revealing the tension that filled him, the knot that formed tighter in his stomach with each flash of lightning that appeared in the sky. The rumbles of thunder were coming more quickly.

One of the Gondor guards in their escort crossed first, and it was evident that going one horse at a time was the best option. Brennan went next, and called for Mírra to follow as he reached the other side.

“Quickly, my lady!”

Mírra took a firmer grip on her reins, though her gloves were now wet and slick with rain. She brought her horse forward, but just as she approached the bridge, another burst of lightning flashed through the sky.

The black mare was startled even more by the brightness and the rumble that followed. Mírra tried to keep herself steady as the horse whinnied and shook.

“It’s alright, it’s just across the bridge, we can make it,” she whispered, half to herself, trying to calm both of them.

She steered the horse cautiously across the bridge, the hooves clopping loudly against the wet stone.

Brennan dismounted to assist the skittish animal, but not in time. As suddenly as the last one had come, another flash of lightning blazed through the horizon, causing the black mare to rear up on her hind legs.

Mírra hung on, but just barely, as the horse came back down. But when the thunder struck, louder and closer than before, the horse reared up again and whinnied, throwing the rider off her saddle.

Mírra was tossed aside over the railing, and she grabbed on, hardly processing in her mind what was happening.

Brennan immediately ran over, and met up with the princess just in time to catch hold of her arms. Mírra’s face was ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief.

But their gloves and clothes were wet, and neither could hold on tightly.

“NO!” Brennan yelled, just as Mírra’s grasp slipped… He leaned farther over the railing, holding her arms, her sleeves, anything he could get a hold of.

Eldarion, who in shock had seen his sister tumble from her horse, ran over to get to her, but in vain.

Mírra began to slip further down, as Brennan’s balance faltered. She screamed, as they both fell over the side, to the rushing water below.

“MÍRRA!”

Possessed by something, he knew not what, Eldarion leaped off the bridge, following his sister into the water of the Morthond.

As he surfaced he looked around, squinting against the wind and the rain.

He saw her, fifty feet away, bobbing desperately against the current.

“Mírra!” he shouted after her.

But soon she was pulled under yet again, and did not surface.

Looking out over the waves as he himself fought the current, Eldarion searched frantically for his sister, but she could not be found.

 

 


	9. Swept Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

  
The only thing she could sense was water, all around… dim coldness all around…

She struggled with the flow of the river, not knowing at first whether she was directed up or down. The pressure on her lungs was unbearable, the tightness burned…

Until somehow, daylight emerged and she found the water’s surface.

Gasping, Mírra tried to catch air, but coughed and spluttered against the spray of lingering rain. She treaded with her arms, attempting to keep steady, but it was no good. The riverbank flowed quickly past as the water continued to sweep her away. Her dress and cloak were heavily waterlogged, and only seemed to want to pull her down further.

Once again the current dragged her under, and once again she managed to find the surface.

_Just float… do anything to keep breathing, she told herself._

She had thought she heard her brother shouting, but not any more. She could not see Brennan either, though he had fallen beside her. There was no one but her.

After a while she was able to observe what was around her, but the riverbank seemed too far away. There were a few low-lying trees that looked promising.

She tried to swim closer to the bank, finding it difficult to move in the deep water. A piece of driftwood came into view, but as she swam to reach out for it, a rush of water pushed her aside, and her arm slammed into the edge of a large rock that jutted out at the water’s edge.

Mírra gave a shout in pain and grabbed at her arm with her free hand, which diminished her ability to manoeuvre in the water. She felt her bruised arm stinging, and she knew it must have been cut against the rock.

Before she could collect herself again, there was an abrupt pull on her cloak… An outlying branch had caught part of the hood.

She reached back awkwardly, trying to release the fabric, but could not catch it. As her cloak held her back, the current tried to bring her forward, nearly choking her.

Since she could not untangle the cloak itself, Mírra instead grasped at the clasp at her neck, and almost as soon as she had been caught, she was released again.

_Just float._

She lay on her back, looking up at the grey sky, too exhausted to fight the river any more. It would carry her where it wished.

 

***

 

Eldarion swam to the place where his sister had surfaced, but found nothing. He fought for a moment, trying to tread water, but soon dove underneath to find her.

He surfaced yet again with nothing but water in sight, the rain and waves obscuring his vision as the wind only worsened the conditions. He swam further ahead, but as soon as he dove under once more, two pairs of hands reached underneath the water and pulled him up.

Two of the other men managed to take the prince to the riverbank. Eldarion caught his breath in surprise, not even realising he was resisting.

“Why have you stopped me?”

“My lord, you will harm yourself, or worse,” came the panicked explanation, “The current is fierce, we could not risk you being pulled under as well.”

Looking back, Eldarion saw that the bridge was now nearly a quarter mile away. The current was indeed strong to have pulled him so far in such a short time.

Feeling his body suddenly heavy over his legs, Eldarion slowly stepped up on the wet grass. His clothes were soaked through, but the cold of the river water was the least of his thoughts.

The three men made their way back to the bridge, where the horses were being gathered. A feeling of shock ran through the whole company, no one knowing exactly what to do or say.

There was one thing to deal with, Eldarion soon saw as he approached the group.

Brennan sat to the side, having been dragged from the water as well. His face was pale, and he cradled his left arm.

“What has happened?” asked Eldarion as he came to the older man’s side.

“I was lucky enough… that I did not fall in the middle of the current…” Brennan replied with strain, “but in landing, my arm struck a rock nearer to the bank.”

Eldarion gingerly examined the forearm. Damage would have been noticeable enough, were it not for the grimace of pain on the man’s face. He tried to hold back from shouting as the prince tried to ascertain the damage.

“I believe it is broken,” he concluded, his voice sounding far away.

One of the men who had helped Brennan out of the water gave assistance as Eldarion tried to bind the arm as best as possible.

After finishing, the prince stood and stepped off to the side, turning away from the others. He pushed slick hair back off face with both hands, and momentarily held them at the back of his neck as he tried to find reason in the rapidly mounting confusion of thoughts.

There was a faint flash of lightning in the distance, and a quiet rumble of thunder. The storm was diminishing.

It had been ten minutes ago. Fifteen at the most.

Having composed himself as best he could, Eldarion returned to the group, turning first to his injured companion.

“My friend, do you think you can sit in the saddle?”

Brennan took a few shallow breaths, and nodded. “I think I can manage it.”

“We lose crucial time already.” Eldarion motioned to three men. “You must ride to Edoras with Brennan, as quick as can be managed, and get help. The rest of us will search the river, as far as we need to.”

“You wish us to go now to Edoras?” Brennan questioned.

“Yes. You require care, and we will need help. My father is there.”

Eldarion turned away again, for a brief moment, contemplating once more their course of action before looking resolutely to the group.

“We must send for the King.”

 

***

 

At some point, Mírra felt her feet touch ground, and she was washed to the side of the bank. It was shallower here, the bottom covered with small stones.

Finding her way to the edge of the water, she coughed violently, spluttering water and shaking.

Finally she was still, anchored at the river’s edge. The cut on her arm still stung, and her cloak was gone. Turning over on her back, she looked up at the sky. Suddenly she realised she no longer felt rain on her face. The clouds were lightening, even beginning to disperse.

It had all happened so quickly, and now she was somewhere unfamiliar, alone. She shivered; her clothes were soaked and cold, her long hair matted wet and heavy.

I will find no safety near the water, that at least is certain.

Raising herself up on hands and knees, then a sitting position, Mírra looked around her. Near the riverside the trees were fairly dense. If any sunlight at all was to reach her, then a shaded would do no good.

She managed to stand and walk, and stepped heavily forward, stopping occasionally to lean on a tree trunk. At length the trees dispersed to reveal a wide open space of grass.

Mírra stopped, feeling exhaustion overtake her. She collapsed on the grass, worn to the core, and hoped for sunlight to take the cold from her body.

 

***

 

“Adair! Come quickly!”

“What is it?”

Mírra felt herself awaken, hearing voices, of two men. Vaguely she could hear then draw near, hushed in alarm.

“A young woman, but I cannot tell…”

“Is she alright, who is she?”

Mírra moved her lips, wanting to answer, but trying to focus on what was happening. She did not know how long she had lain there, but she thought it was still afternoon. Harsh daylight made her wince as she began to blink her eyes open.

“Miss, can you hear me?” He touched her arm, trying to wake her.

Mírra thought it was the first man speaking. His voice was low and even, concern evident.

“She’s alive,” spoke the second man, exhaling in quiet relief.

Mirra managed to voice two words, as her lips trembled from the chill that remained in her body.

“Help me?”

It was enough to utter the request, to make her realise how desperately she was in need of help. And there was nothing to do but put her trust in the strangers before her.

“We must take her back with us. If she is sick, Doreth may be able to help.”

“It is still a few miles ride, Doran, can she bear the journey?”

“We cannot leave her here.”

Still blinking against the daylight, Mírra reached out. Thought she did not truly know what she was reaching for, her fingers touched a sleeve, then a hand.

“Please.”

There was a moment’s pause, but she thought to perceive a nod of assent from the man next to her.

She was lifted up off the ground, and carried.

Then somehow she was seated in a saddle, leaning against the rider, a pair of strong arms around her.

The horse began to ride, and she did not know where they were headed, or even care, so long as it was shelter.

 

***

 

Abruptly Mírra awoke, for the second time that day. There was a pillow beneath her cheek, and she was lying in a bed.

Her first thought was to wonder where she was, when a woman spoke to her in a gentle voice.

“Miss? Can you hear me?”

Mírra swallowed, and was able to find her voice through dry lips.

“How… where am I?”

“My husband and my brother found you while they were riding home, and brought you here. It’s alright, you’re alright.”

Mírra fully opened her eyes to look at who was speaking.

“My name is Doreth,” the woman told her.

Doreth had deep brown eyes, and smiled with nervous expectancy at the young woman before her. Mírra saw that her hair was light blond, covered with a plain kerchief.

“I was… I was riding with my brother,” Mírra started, as she tried to sit up, “But we were caught in the middle of the storm.”

She frowned in confusion, trying to recall the events of the middle of the day. Had it truly been only a few hours ago? It all seemed to defy comprehension.

“The storm frightened my horse… I was tossed aside,” She looked up and met Doreth’s eyes, recalling the moment with some confusion. “I fell in the river.”

The blond woman next to her took in a slight breath, the expression in her brown eyes softening.

“You were taken up in the river, separated from your companions?”

Mírra nodded. Looking down she saw her arm had been wrapped in strips of clean cloth. For a moment she brought her free hand to touch the bandage, and she was struck by the full weight of the situation in which she now found herself.

She suddenly brought a hand tightly to her mouth, as she squeezed her eyes shut against sudden tears.

“I could have… I was nearly…” She did not want to think what might have happened.

“Oh, there now,” said Doreth, rushing, to sit facing the younger woman on the bed. She placed her hands lightly on Mírra’s shoulders, in an attempt at comfort. “Please do not worry, you are alright now.”

Mírra drew in a breath and slowly exhaled, blinking against the lingering wetness on her lashes.

“My brother will be looking for me, how worried he must be.”

“I know. Tomorrow we will think on what to do next. But for now, it is late in the evening. You must try to rest, for you have been through quite an ordeal, I can see.”

Mírra nodded. She was right, there was nothing that could be done now, and she felt undeniably weakened. The next day they would send word.

She formed her best attempt at a smile, and extended a hand to the woman next to her.

“My name is Mírra.”

Doreth sat up a little straighter, and raised her eyebrows in slight surprise, but smiled brightly as she extended her own hand to Mírra’s.

“It is good to meet you.”

 

***

 

Doreth left the spare room, pressing her free hand to the door as she shut it as quietly as possible.

Returning to the main room of the house, she found her brother sitting at the table. A small girl of about five or six sat on his lap, but jumped down as soon as she saw Doreth enter.

“You are still up at this hour?” She crouched next to the little girl, who had hair the same colour as her own.

“Mama, who is the stranger?”

“She is our guest, and you may meet her tomorrow, I am sure.” Her daughter seemed to accept this. “Now be off to bed with you.’

With a kiss from her mother, the little blond girl hurried down the hall.

“Is Adair at the barn?”

“Yes, he said he would return soon. My niece asks a good question though,” said Doran, as his sister joined him at the table.

“I know. But I did not want to press her now.”

“How is she?”

“She sleeps,” she said simply. “I am not a healer, Doran, I cannot be sure, but… I think a night of rest will help. I suppose in the morning we will know more.”

“I wonder if we should have brought her here. If she has friends searching for her, perhaps we have only made matters worse.”

“How could it be worse for her to be in a warm bed, instead of in the wet remains of a storm?”

The light-haired man nodded, knowing they were right to offer help. But what would happen next?

“We still do not know who she is.” He half asked the question of himself, not expecting an answer. “And how did we come to find her?”

“All I know now is that her name is Mírra, and that she was caught in the storm. She fell in the river, and was separated from her party.”

“She was carried away by the Morthond?” Doran said with a note of surprise.

“You must have found her near to where she escaped it.”

Doreth’s husband Adair entered then from the outside. He removed his cap, and went to join the other two at the table.

“The sky is clear now, and I can see the stars.” He set a reassuring hand behind his wife’s shoulder, taking a seat beside her. “The storm has passed completely, I think.”

“That bodes well,” Doreth smiled, “for a brighter day tomorrow.”

 

 

 


	10. Brighter Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

  
Judging by the light that was just peeking through the curtains, dawn had already broken over an hour ago. But it was the sounds she awoke to in the morning, that first told Mírra she was not where she should be; the chattering of small birds outside, and bleating sounds of what could only be sheep.

Not to say that there was nothing to be heard in the morning in Minas Tirith, but the palace was well sheltered from the noise of the city. On each morning of their journey so far, it had been disconcerting at first, to awake to something more than silence, in such open country. Not better or worse, simply different.

Mírra sat up, groggy from so much sleep. Running her fingers lightly over the bandage, she could feel her arm was still tender. A few minor cuts stung her forehead and cheek, and her head ached, but she was relieved to discover she felt otherwise fine. She found her sable travel dress was gone, replaced with a plain beige frock, a nightdress perhaps.

For the first time since she had arrived here, she looked around the room she found herself in. It was simple enough, and fairly small. She wondered if it was a spare room, or perhaps that of a child, for aside from the bed the only furniture was a small wardrobe and wooden chair, and a small table beside the bed.

Curious about her new surroundings, Mírra stood, and stepped slowly over to the window that was on the same wall as the bed.

As she pushed back the curtains, the brightness of the early morning sunshine momentarily startled her eyes, but she smiled as she saw that blue sky and friendly white clouds had replaced yesterday’s storm.

The house was surrounded by pasture, and the rain had made the grass green and bright. Just off in the distance there were sheep, grazing in small groups, all around the field. She noticed first one man, then two, tending the flock; she guessed them to be the men who had found her, as she remembered the friendly voice she had heard yesterday.

Yesterday.

Anxiety sank into her stomach at the recollection of what had happened. Eldarion. Where was he now? What must he be thinking?

Before she could dwell on it, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in?” Her voice was unexpectedly fragile, and she cleared her throat as the door opened.

Doreth entered, her expression lively.

“How glad I am to see you are awake!”

She rushed over, setting down a tray that held an earthen mug of some warm drink, and what looked to be bread and cheese. Mírra could not help but smile, albeit a little nervously, at her cheerfulness.

Although they had met the previous day, Mírra now took greater notice of her hostess. Doreth was of medium height and build, with brown eyes and light hair. By her looks Mírra guessed her to be a few years older than her brother, perhaps in her mid twenties. Her hands and arms showed wiry strength, due no doubt to the work of keeping her home, but her face was bright and fair.

“You look well,” she added. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think.”

“I have set your dress out to wash, it was quite muddy. But if it does not bother you, I can give you a dress of mine to wear, in the meantime?”

“That is very good of you.” Doreth’s cheeks seemed to flush slightly. Perhaps she was as anxious as Mírra was.

Thinking then on her appearance, it was then that she realised, with a surprise, that her neck was bare.

Doreth saw Mírra gasp as she put her hand to her throat. “Something is wrong?”

“My necklace, it’s gone…”

“What necklace?”

“I did not have it, when you found me?”

Doreth only shook her head. “No, miss, I’m sorry to say. It was valuable?”

“It was a gift, so it was special to me,” Mírra answered, rubbing the side of her neck. “I lost my cloak when it became caught on a fallen branch… the chain must have broken then.”

She looked aside, and hugged her elbows with a touch of awkwardness.

Though by her height and stature she seemed mature enough, Doreth began to see that the young woman before was still so young, and simply anxious to be separated from her family, to be in such a strange place.

“Not to worry, miss. If all you have lost is a piece of jewelry, and a cloak,” she said kindly, “then you are indeed fortunate.”

Mírra gave a nod, briefly looked down at her folded arms.

“You’re right,” she smiled weakly, looking up again. “If you please,” Mírra continued, “I am quite concerned to get word to my brother. I know he must be looking for me.”

“Of course,” Doreth nodded.

“We crossed the Morthond, twenty miles or so from Erech. But how far we are from there, or the river, I do not know.”

Doreth raised her eyebrows.

“Goodness, that is quite a few miles from here. You were taken far.” Mírra knew not how to respond, but was indeed touched by her evident concern. “And to be as little hurt as you are…”

Unexpectedly, the blond woman put her arms around her guest, taking Mírra into a tight hug.

“How frightened you must have been!”

Mírra pulled back after a moment, feeling emotion get the better of her.

“Thank you. Thank you for helping me,” she said quietly, her voice slightly choked.

Doreth gave another smile.

“The river itself is not terribly far from here. Either Adair, or my brother Doran will be able to go back to look for your party. Please, do not worry.”

Mírra nodded, feeling more relieved. With everything this woman had already done, she felt now that there truly was no cause for worry.

“Come, you must be hungry. If you would like more to eat, I can find something for you. But please, if you feel well, you must now come and meet my family.” Doreth took Mírra’s hand merrily.

“Yes,” Mírra smiled, brightness returning to her complexion, “that sounds lovely.”

 

***

 

Having eaten, Mírra felt much more refreshed. Doreth had found an extra shawl and dress for her to wear; the dress was a little loose around the middle, and a bit short in the sleeves, but perfectly suitable, and of a light blue colour. She had even brought a comb for Mírra to tidy her hair.

She found her way outside to see the older woman hanging wet laundry out to dry. Near the house, two boys were running after each other in a game of chase. A small girl sat on the grass, closer in, examining patches of clover. She looked up as Mírra joined Doreth, and ran straight to her mother’s skirts.

“Oh, silly thing, you,” Doreth teased her. “Meet my daughter Ailsa. She is being shy, suddenly.”

The resemblance was apparent, as Ailsa had the same brown eyes and blond hair as her mother.

“I have a sister a few years younger than you,” she said, smiling back at the little girl.

“Connor!” Doreth called loudly, turning.

The two boys stopped in their game, and ran over as Doreth gestured to them. One had a head full of short brown curls, the other was blond and light-eyed. They could not have been more than a year apart, perhaps aged eight or nine.

“This is my son Connor,” Doreth gestured, to the darker-haired boy. “and this is Nolan. Children, this is Mírra, she is our guest.”

Mírra gave a friendly nod. “Hello.”

“Were you really caught in the storm?” asked the fairer boy eagerly.

“Nolan! That isn’t polite,” Doreth chided.

“No, no it is alright,” Mírra assured her. She could understand the child’s curiosity. “Yes I was. We were on the way to Edoras, when it happened.”

“Oh…” added Doreth softly, a touch of awe in her voice. “I have never seen Edoras, myself. My husband has been a few times, for trading. Did your brother have business there, then? Someone to see?”

“Yes, I suppose he does have business there. We were going to meet with my father, in any case.”

Doreth took this to mean that Mírra’s father lived in the Rohan city.

“How lovely, then. But you do not seem Rohirric, by your looks?”

Mírra shook her head, smiling lightly.

“Oh, no. My family’s house is called Telcontar. My father has been meeting with Rohan for the last few months, he – ”

She heard Doreth gasp silently, bringing her fingertips briefly to her mouth, as her eyes strayed briefly to the sable dress that was now hanging to dry in the sunshine.

“Good gracious…” She seemed to sway slightly. “Your father is not the King?”

“That’s right.” Mírra was unsure how else to reply.

Doreth looked shaken.

“Connor, go and get your father. Go now.”

At her urging the two boys ran off together, to the nearby pasture. The girl still stayed by her mother, looking up with wide eyes at the two women.

“Have I upset you?” Mírra laid a hand lightly on her companion’s arm, in what was meant to be a friendly gesture, but it caused Doreth to jump slightly.

“No my lady, of course not, I…” she held her hands out in near supplication, “Oh, of course I should have recognised your name, should have guessed by the colour of your dress, who you were… Oh, and how could I have given you such a plain thing to wear, why did I not give you a finer gown, oh…”

“It is alright, this is perfectly well, Doreth.” Their conversation had changed abruptly, and now Mírra was the one taking a tone of reassurance. “Already you have done so much.”

“But this changes things now, we must get you to your family… we must get you to his highness as soon as possible.”

In a few short minutes the boys returned, with both men.

Doreth’s husband Adair was also of medium height, and very lean. His brown curly hair matched Connor’s and his beard was the same. The other man, Doran, was tall and of larger build. His straight hair was sand-coloured, and he had the same warm brown eyes as his sister. He was also older, perhaps in his early thirties, judging from the friendly creases about his eyes.

As Doreth explained the situation, an air of immediacy began to permeate the conversation.

“We should leave at once then,” said Adair firmly.

“No, perhaps it is best if I go alone, if you are needed here, if the lady’s party finds her before I find them,” replied Doran. It was then that Mírra recognised his voice, as the one she had heard yesterday. Very low, almost gentle. At the time it had made her feel comforted, strangely enough.

But whatever was the proper way for her to behave in such a situation, she could not think of it. She therefore decided to speak as straightforwardly as possible.

“Perhaps I should go with you.”

“Oh, no my lady,” Doreth rushed to take Mírra’s hand, “please, you must stay here. If we were to let you go before you were fully recovered and rested, I should never forgive myself…”

Mírra could not help but be swayed by the sincerity of her concern. Not letting go of Doreth’s hand, she turned to Doran.

“I know Eldarion will be searching the river. We crossed about twenty miles south of Erech, that is where I fell.”

“That is less than a day’s ride from here,” he nodded. “I will go first to the place where we found you, and ride north along the river bank.”

Mírra became quiet for a moment, as the others saw her brow crease in thought. She crossed quickly to the laundry line and, as she found her dress, appeared to tear something from part of the fabric.

Returning to the group, she approached Doran and held it out a scrap of dark fabric, meaning for him to take it.

“Here,” she said, placing the fabric she had torn from the pocket of her dress in his palm. Looking down, he saw a figure of a white tree embroidered with silver on the black cloth. “You shall know the men you are looking for, by this symbol on their garments. And when you show them this, so shall they know you are a friend.”

For a brief moment Doran looked up at the young lady before him, and her dark eyes were clear and calm. Just as he withdrew, he felt her fingertips brush his palm, the second time he had felt her touch upon his hand.

“As you wish it, my lady.”

With a simple bow of his head, he tucked the cloth into the pocket of his coat.

 

***

 

Much earlier that morning, Eldarion found himself in much less calm a situation. Although the storm had cleared soon enough, their search efforts had proved fruitless. Night had fallen too quickly, and there was no choice but to stop and camp, at least for a few hours.

However, the brief rest had not prevented him from keeping awake, with a twist of tension in his stomach that he had felt since being pulled from the river himself yesterday. He had even needed to be coerced into putting on dry clothes.

At the first light they were off again, moving slowly down the riverbank, searching. The thought that Eldarion pushed away was that even if they did find something, it could very well not be a happy find.

It was still morning when a commotion alerted the attention of his party. Riders approached.

_Father._ The twist in his stomach tightened.

They must have travelled through the night, of course. Eldarion saw the King at the head of the group, and riding fast. There was no reading his expression, except for a fierce intentness about his gaze. He reached his son with little difficulty, and dismounted to speak to him privately.

“Tell me.”

Drawing in a breath to steady his voice, Eldarion related to his father the events of the past day.

“The other half of the group is now searching the western bank, while we continue here,” he finished.

“And you have found no sign?” Aragorn searched his son’s face, but Eldarion continued to look, with a somewhat detached stare, at the ground.

“Only one.” The prince went to his horse and collected a dark bundle from his saddle bag. “Her cloak, we found near the water’s edge, caught.”

Aragorn collected the heavy garment from Eldarion, looking it over carefully.

“The clasp is intact,” he noted, “little damage, except for water. You found it in the river?”

Eldarion nodded. “But it was many miles back, and there has been nothing since.”

“I see.” Aragorn folded the cloak over one arm, and stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, pinching a thumb and forefinger to his lips. He began to appear calmer. “What are your thoughts?”

Eldarion looked up slowly, considering his answer. He still could not read his father’s expression, but Aragorn’s voice had not been hard.

“I have contacted no one except for you, and I do not think yet that we should go so far as to send word to Minas Tirith. Presently there is nothing to indicate anything, one way or the other.”

“Agreed,” said the King, with a brief nod. Again there was silence, as the older man waited for the younger to continue.

“But, although the outcome is not certain, I worry. I… I regret.”

“Regret?”

“Of course. To cross the Morthond during the storm? If I had not been so foolish we would not be here, Mírra would not have – ”

Aragorn cut him off. “You must stop this worrying now, Eldarion, you must not blame yourself for what happened.”

“But how can you say that, if you were not there to see it?” Unintentionally his voice raised. “You do not wonder at how it happened, at why we did not go by the West Road?”

“You are right, I was not there.” The tone of the King’s voice began to match his son’s. “And indeed I did wonder greatly, when I received word of the route you had taken.”

“Then how is it that you can be so calm?”

“Do you want me to blame you for this? I worry dearly for your sister, Eldarion, but our situation would not be improved by me showing anger to you.”

The prince dipped his head again.

“You’re right. All we can do is search, and wait.”

He turned to face the riverbank, one hand on his hip, the other scratching an eyebrow.

Aragorn let out a deep sigh, and the weariness and anxiety of the night’s ride were revealed in his face. He crossed slowly to Eldarion’s horse, and tucked Mírra’s cloak back where it had been, in the saddle bag.

“I will take the western bank then.” Turning, he received no response, as his son seemed to be peering at something in the grass, eyes fixed at one spot. “Eldarion?”

The prince stepped cautiously over the soft, wet ground, and crouched over the object. As Aragorn approached, he saw something shining in Eldarion’s palm. It was a violet coloured stone, roughly shaped, set in fine detail on a silver chain.

Eldarion caught his breath, realising what he had found. “It is hers.”

Looking back, he met his father’s eye.

“This must mean…”

“…she made it out of the water,” Aragorn finished. For a moment there was renewed hope in both their expressions.

The two men rapidly began to examine the ground around them with careful scrutiny, suddenly aware of each crushed blade of grass or depression in the mud.

Eldarion gestured in front of him, away from the river. “Here, there are footprints.”

Quickly they alerted the attention of their companions, as they followed the tracks.

Before getting far, however, they heard a call being raised nearby. Two of the men of their party approached on foot, with a third man, a stranger to them.

“Your highnesses,” said the first man, “this man brings news.”

Doran felt all eyes on him, as he gave a small bow from the neck.

“I think I have found… what you are searching for.”

“My daughter?”

The fair-haired man nodded to the King, and spoke simply. “The Lady Mírra bid me show you this.”

“How does she?” Asked Eldarion, just as Aragorn took the scrap of cloth.

“Very well, in my sister’s care. So it please your highnesses, I will take you to her.”

“We shall follow you at once.”

The riders mounted, and departed in speed from the riverside.

 

***

 

“Do you wish to come inside, my lady?” asked Doreth.

“Oh, not yet, if it is alright. I do so enjoy the sunshine, after the past few days.”

“Of course, so please you.”

Sitting on the grass, Mírra watched Ailsa pluck segments from a flower in the clover. Doreth crossed once more to the laundry line, checking that sheets were dry. She seemed to be intent on finding a task.

“May I help you?”

“Oh, you need not trouble yourself, my lady,” Doreth flustered again.

“Please, call me Mírra. And it is no trouble, not after all you have already provided for me.”

Just then the two young boys came running past, laughing.

“We are going to the barn, mama!” called the dark-haired boy. Hearing this, Ailsa immediately leapt up, to follow her brother.

“Mind you keep out of trouble with your father!” Doreth called back. “There are two new lambs this week,” she explained, turning back to Mírra.

“Exciting indeed,” replied the princess, watching the children dash off. “Your younger son certainly favours his father,” she added, at an attempt at conversation.

“My younger son? Oh, I see,” she smiled, laughing away momentary confusion. “No, only Ailsa and Connor are my children. Nolan is Doran’s son.”

“Doran?” Mírra looked to her companion in surprise. “I had not realised he was married.”

“He was,” Doreth answered gently. “But his wife died, quite a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“But we all still make up one family, all the same,” the older woman explained, seeking to alleviate Mírra’s discomfort at the subject. “Nolan spends so much time with us, and is so close with Connor, the two of them are almost like brothers.”

“They are lively boys,” Mírra smiled.

“If I may speak plainly, my lady, that is putting it mildly indeed,” laughed Doreth. She gestured to the sheet next to them, on the line. “Come, will we fold this one, then?”

“Let’s.”

Mírra took up two corners. The linen gleamed bright white with sunshine, billowing briefly before they folded it into a smaller square.

“May I ask you something, my lady?” Doreth began, somewhat shyly. “I know it will sound simple, I’m sure.”

“What is it?”

“Well, your mother, the Queen… she is an elf?”

“Why, yes,” Mírra nodded. Doreth came to stand beside her, still holding the folded sheet in her hands, toying with some loose threads at one corner.

“This will sound silly, but… I almost did not believe it when I first heard it. It sounded like something that could only happen in songs.”

“I confess I had never considered it unusual.” She gave a shrug of her shoulders. “They are simply my parents.”

“Of course,” Doreth blushed slightly. “They must love each other a great deal.”

“I believe they do.” To her surprise, Mírra blushed back.

The two women shared a smile.

As they began to collect the remainder of the dry laundry, Mírra thought she could hear the sound of horses approaching, hooves pounding in the distance. Turning west, looking past the house, she indeed saw a small group approaching, one rider finding his way quicker than the others.

Picking up her skirt, with no other thought in her head, Mírra ran toward them.

“Eldarion!”

As soon as he dismounted he put his arms around his sister in a tight hug.

“I am so very relieved to see you,” she said over his shoulder.

“You cannot be more relieved than I, trust me,” Eldarion nearly laughed.

Mírra then saw the remainder of the search party nearing the house. In front of Doran, racing quickly toward them, was her father.

The King quickly reached his children, paying little attention to the gazes of surprised observers. Adair had come from the barn, the three children huddled next to him, looking on in wonder at the sudden visitors.

“Ada!” Though unexpected, Mírra was suddenly so very glad to see him.

“Are you hurt? Tell me, how are you?”

With concern Aragorn looked from the bandage on Mírra’s arm, then raised a hand lightly underneath her chin, to look carefully at her face. Mírra saw how his gaze scattered to take in the few cuts, and would not stay still.

“I’m alright, father,” she said softly, laying her hand on his arm. “I’m alright.”

The King met his daughter’s eyes then, for a moment. He then drew his arms around her shoulders, as he bowed his head in relief, no longer calm.

 

 

 


	11. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

  
Eldarion placed a comforting hand on Mírra’s back, and she finally turned out of her father’s embrace, hugging her brother once more. Aragorn looked on quietly, as he himself began to relax.

“I was so frightened,” the prince told his sister quietly.

“So was I,” Mírra replied as she withdrew, composing herself again. “But it seems all is mended now.”

“Indeed,” he smiled, reaching into a pocket, “I am very glad to restore this to you.”

In his palm was the violet stone on its silver chain.

“You found it!” she exclaimed as she took it up thankfully. The clasp had broken, but it looked well enough besides.

“Your cloak also,” Eldarion added. “We had just detected your path, when we met up with the gentleman here,” he explained, with a nod to Doran, who had dismounted, to stand next to his sister.

The three of them, blocking out all else in their moments of reacquainting, now became aware of the small audience around them.

“And here we find you well.”

As he spoke Aragorn looked to his daughter, before turning his eyes to the folk that had drawn near.

Adair had emerged from the barn with the two boys and Ailsa. The few stable hands that had been with him also came out to see the newcomers.

Doreth stood at her brother’s side, on her face an expression of mild awe at who was now before them. Before the King could meet her eye she immediately looked down, a sudden blush on her cheek, a hand rushing nervously to her mouth.

“Greetings,” said Aragorn with a slightly formal nod, taking in their hosts with clear gaze.

Both men bowed, as Doreth fell to her knees, abashed in his majesty’s presence. Mírra rushed to take her hand.

“I am very pleased for you to meet part of my family, Doreth” she told the fair woman encouragingly, helping her to stand. “My brother, Eldarion, and my father.”

Aragorn took her hand in greeting, causing her to only blush more furiously. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady.”

Doreth responded with a simple curtsy. “This is my… my husband Adair,” she stammered softly, next introducing the three children, “and you have already met my brother Doran, I deem.”

“We were most grateful for your direction, sir,” said Eldarion.

“And I,” spoke Mírra, “for I wondered if you would locate me, so far we are now from the crossing.”

“What did happen, after we were separated?” Eldarion asked her. Aragorn was also curious, to hear her tell of the events of the previous day.

Mírra spoke, with only a little hesitation, of how the lightning had frightened her horse, causing her to fall over the edge of the bridge. She herself had been unsure at the time of how far she had been taken, but at last had found a shallower place to climb up on the riverbank. Adair and Doran had been riding back from a neighbouring village, expecting to return earlier, but had delayed to wait out the storm.

Doreth related how she was only glad to see the two men returned safely out of the weather, but then was surprised at the young lady’s arrival.

“I did not press you to tell us about yourself, that first night, not wanting to upset you further. But if I had, perhaps you would have been reunited sooner, and I am sorry for it."

“Your honesty,” replied the King calmly, “speaks well enough for you, lady.”

Doreth’s cheeks turned even redder, but her smile was genuine.

“My only concern,” said Eldarion thoughtfully, turning to his sister, “if you are well enough to return now to Edoras.”

Though Mírra tried to placate them as best she could of her health, there was still the matter of travel time, for the Rohan capital was more than a day’s ride away, and it was already afternoon. Even if they departed now there would be two nights of camp required.

“If I may suggest, my lords,” Adair spoke simply, “you are welcome to remain here tonight. It would be an honour to host you, and the lady for one night.”

It was strange that they had not considered it, but now that the offer was made, there seemed nothing to stand in the way of it. After more than twenty four hours of tension, the prospect of remaining in such country was indeed very calming.

“We shall stay here tonight, then?” Mírra asked her father, evidently pleased.

“Yes, we shall stay here.”

Mírra’s eyes twinkled as her expression softened. “Wonderful.”

 

***

 

For the rest of the afternoon, the King was pleased to receive a tour of the grounds, learning about his hosts and their occupations. Mírra herself had not even fully seen the entire property.

Adair, a shearer by trade, kept a substantial flock of sheep. With a small number of assistant shepherds, managed the barn and the pasture quite well. As they viewed the barn, the children were very pleased to point out two lambs, who were indeed new just in the past week.

Doreth worked with a few women, mainly the shepherds’ wives, in spinning the wool they produced. As she had told Mírra the day before, Adair did go to Edoras for trade on occasion, and they made a sound living. Their house was not expansive, but more than large enough for their family.

The visitors also learned that while Doran spent part of his time with his sister and brother-in-law, he also managed his own small stable, keeping horses for their own community, and for some folk nearby. He and his son Nolan had a house to call their own, just within sight of the pasture, but spent much time with his sister’s family, even more so since his wife’s death from illness, soon after Nolan’s birth.

If their parents were somewhat in awe of their guests, the children quickly grew excited at the task of showing off their home. And so while Eldarion and Adair worked to set up camp, a short distance from the house, the two boys happily went with Doran to show the King and his daughter the country side, and their favourite places to explore. The landscape north of the house was more hilly, and with more trees, that provided a pleasant walk to finish the afternoon.

 

 

 

As they returned from walking, the daylight was beginning to fade, bringing sunset closer. Aragorn went to rejoin Eldarion in setting their camp, as Mírra remained near the house.

Once again she could not help but take notice of the sounds she heard here. Although it was just beginning to turn to dusk, she was surprised to find a few crickets chirping distinctively in the grass.

She did not even consider that she must have looked odd, standing there quietly, until one of the two boys came by, on his way back to the house. Nolan saw her gaze, apparently fixed on something, but he could not tell what.

“Are you watching something?” he asked in a quiet, curious voice, as he came up beside her.

Mírra turned, only mildly startled, and smiled back at him.

“No, I’m just listening.”

The boy flitted his gaze around them as he tried to hear what she did.

“But it is only the crickets.”

“I am not used to hearing them,” Mírra explained. “Do you like their song?”

Nolan shrugged, as if he was surprised by the question.

“They always sing so many at once. I never find just one.”

“Hm.” The young lady seemed to give this some thought. “Have you ever caught one?”

Nolan shook his head, full of blond hair that fell over his eyes.

“No. They always get away.”

“Perhaps if we are careful.” Mírra gave the quickest of winks. “…and silent.”

The boy put a finger to his lips, in agreement, grinning.

She took a soft step forward in the grass, eyes and ears intent. There was a short chirp just in front of them, before the cricket went silent. Nolan followed her lead in crouching down.

Mírra cautiously extended a hand, and with care cupped her fingers over the spot in the grass. Bringing her hands together, the insect tickled her palm as she caught it. Within a moment it was transferred safely into Nolan’s hands.

“Got it!” he exclaimed happily.

“Got what?”

Mírra looked up to see Doran coming from the house. He approached them calmly, observing their behaviour with quiet curiosity.

“Have you found something?”

Nolan rose and went happily to his father, hands cupped together over the insect in his hands, which let out a small chirp in ineffective protest at its capture.

“I’ve got a cricket.”

“Well, shall I see it too?”

“Oh no, papa, it will get away if I do,” said the boy. His light eyes brightened momentarily. “I will show it to Connor, and it will give him a fright.”

His father laughed softly. “Do not blame me when your aunt chases you for your actions.”

Nolan grinned and ran off to the house.

Feeling an unexpected need to neaten her appearance, Mírra pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, tucked a few pieces of hair behind her ears. Almost absentmindedly she fingered the edge of the cloth bandage on her arm.

Doran gave slight nod of his head in greeting, which Mírra returned. For the first time he was alone in her company, and at a loss for words. But the problem was solved when it was the princess who spoke first.

“I realise I haven’t yet thanked you properly, for what you’ve done for me.”

Doran smiled gently, giving a slight shake of his head.

“There is truly no need, my lady, I am glad to have been of help.”

When he spoke in his low calm voice, it seemed to Mírra to be just as how he walked, never putting a step wrong. Each word fell carefully and evenly, in a pleasant efficiency of speech which gave the impression of revealing only as much as he needed to, and had yet hidden nothing.

Mírra wanted to say something more, something to acknowledge what he and his family had done. But any statement of thanks that she could give somehow seemed inadequate.

“Yesterday, when I think more of what happened, I realise how nearly you might have missed seeing me, if I had not wandered so far from the river’s edge.” He saw her fingers drift again to the bandage on her arm, fidgeting with the edge of the cloth wrapping. “The truth is, if you and Adair had not found me… I worry to think what could have happened to me, what could have been.”

“But we did find you,” he told her simply, “No matter what could have been.”

Mírra gave a small smile, and felt her cheeks grow warm, despite herself.

“I thank you all the same, my lord.”

Doran gave another nod, in acceptance.

A young voice interrupted them, causing Mírra to take in a breath as she drew herself into alertness, aware of how comfortable she had been, alone in Doran’s company.

“Papa!” Nolan came running up excitedly, taking his father’s hand. “My aunt says we may have dinner outside tonight, since there are too many people to fit in the house!”

“She says that, does she?” Doran answered somewhat wryly.

“Yes, and we may sit ‘round the fire, as well.”

“Nolan,” he began again, slightly dubious, “you do realise who our guests are?”

“You mean my father, and my brother?” Mírra answered for him, a bemused expression on her face, “and me?”

There was a twinkle in her eye that immediately set Doran’s qualms at rest.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Come along, papa, auntie says we must get things ready, before it grows too dark to see.”

“So we must, then.” He turned to Mírra, as Nolan attempted to direct him inside. “It appears we have plenty to make ready for.”

“So it does.”

She smiled brightly back at him, giving him a feeling of lightness that Doran had not expected.

 

***

 

Although dinner had finished an hour ago, Doreth remained in the kitchen, finding another surface to clean, another bit of floor to sweep, anything to keep her busy. Her husband soon found her, wondering what still kept her from the merriment outside.

She turned away from the table she had been washing, her eyes uncertain.

“I cannot go out there,” her voice was nearly a whisper.

“Why ever not?” At first Adair thought she was jesting with him, but the pale look on her face rapidly told him she was quite serious.

“It is the King himself… I cannot share company with him, I will surely look foolish and simple.”

“You have shared the princess’s company for two days now.”

“It is not the same thing, and you know it. The things his majesty has done, Adair… You know how our parents spoke of what it was like to live near Erech, how changed that place was after his coming.”

“It will be alright, Doreth, I promise,” he could not help but smile as he crossed to take her hand, in an attempt at comfort. “Your presence is missed, darling, please come out with me. I will play, if you like,” he added after a pause.

“Yes?” Doreth’s expression brightened as she considered this. Her free hand flitted to the kerchief over her hair, to her apron.

“I still do not look suitable…”

She released her husband’s hand and, with some lingering uncertainty, removed the kerchief from her head, and then the apron, laying it carefully over the back of a chair.

“Is this better?” She asked, trying to brush unseen dust from her skirts.

“You always look beautiful, Doreth.”

Adair helpfully smoothed back a lock of his wife’s light hair, waiting for her to finally look at him, and gave her his hand again. She clasped it tightly between both of hers.

She gave an optimistic smile as she drew in a breath.

“Alright, let us go out, before I lose my nerve.”

 

***

 

Just as the afternoon had been warm and bright in the aftermath of the previous day’s storm, so the evening was also fair. The sky was again clear, the stars brightening with the rise of the moon.

Shawls and light cloaks were enough to keep warm, as the mixed company arranged themselves around the fireside. A few benches had been brought outside for seating, which did not seem to displease the King. In fact he even seemed content, hearing the voices of men and women raised in merriment.

Seated next to her father, Mírra noticed his dress was not as formal as it usually was, even for travel. He must have departed Edoras in a hurry, of course, neglecting outward appearances. Though she could not explain why, he seemed more comfortable in plainer clothes.

Both King and princess saw their hostess exit the house, her expression bright enough, but still she clutched her husband’s arm as if holding on for dear life. As Ailsa ran up to them, though, Doreth took the little girl happily in her arms, as they joined the party.

“Doreth seems quite nervous. Does my presence affect her, do you think?” Aragorn asked his daughter evenly, with a nod to their hostess.

“Well, it is not every day that one hosts someone of your stature, ada,” she said wryly.

“It is very generous of them to do so. I see you have been in good hands.”

Mírra smiled. “They have indeed been most kind. Even without knowing who I was, they helped me without question.”

Her father gave a nudge, as she went quiet for a moment.

“Go and speak with her, if you like. Do not worry to leave me.”

Mírra laid a hand on his arm. “Alright, but only for a second.”

Aragorn saw her cross to where the couple was standing with their daughter. Nearby Eldarion was deep in conversation with Doran.

Straying between clusters of grown-ups around him, the boy Connor noticed the King sitting comfortably near the fire. Curiously he neared, but becoming unsure he soon paused, observing him with quiet interest. For a moment the King was looking upward towards the stars, but smiled when he saw the boy approaching.

“Hello, young master,” he said with a nod to the boy.

“Hullo,” said Connor, somewhat timidly. The King did not seem all that imposing. His light grey eyes were calm and bright.

At Aragorn’s invitation he came to sit on the bench.

“I was watching the stars just now.”

“I like the stars too,” ventured Connor.

“Do you know any of the patterns in the sky?”

“I know that one,” said the dark-haired boy, creasing his brow in concentration and pointing high up over his head at a group of seven stars.

“It is called the Valacirca, which means the Sickle of the Valar”

“I can always spot it,” Connor said happily.

“Then Varda has done her work well,” replied the King.

“She is one of the Valar.”

“That’s right,” Aragorn nodded. “She gathered the ancient stars and set them in the sky, as we see them now.”

“Very long ago?”

“Even before the time of the Children of Ilúvatar.”

“Oh…” the boy answered quietly. “But how do we know it was her that put the stars there, if it happened so long ago?”

Aragorn smiled gently as he sat up a little straighter. It was a good question.

“Because we have tales passed down, from many years ago. The past is always remembered, while there are people who tell it.”

This appeared to please Connor.

“Then I will remember it was Varda who put the stars in the sky,” he told the King.

“Ah, that is well then. So the tales will continue,” Aragorn concluded, spreading his palms upward.

The boy tilted his head back as he looked up once again at the sky, his mouth hanging slightly open. The gesture made Aragorn smile, and turn his own glance upward, taking in the sight above, that he had not examined in quite a while.

“Oh, look!” said Connor as he noticed Adair approaching, a fiddle in his hands. “My papa is going to play for us.”

“He plays well?”

Connor nodded his curly-haired head vigorously. “I love papa’s music.” He turned to the King, as if considering something. “Do you like to hear it too?”

A low chuckle rose from Aragorn’s throat, a grin spreading over his face at the boy’s question. Apparently not everyone was quite so nervous.

“Very much. I think it will be a very merry evening, yes?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

Returning to join his father, Eldarion showed a bemused expression as he regarded the two companions, the boy clapping his hands together cheerfully to join the celebration.

“A new friend?” he asked.

Aragorn replied with a wink. “Something like that.”

 

***

 

The next morning seemed to come too quickly, for Mírra in particular. By all accounts she should have been pleased to be departing, completing the remainder of the journey that had been so disrupted. Until two days ago she had only been thinking of seeing Edoras.

But the welcoming comfort of her present environment had put those thoughts out of her mind, and now it seemed a disappointment to leave such a friendly place.

Early in the morning, as preparations were being completed for departure, she made her way to the stables, to see about her ride. It relieved her to find the black mare she had departed with was no longer with their party. Instead a grey mare had been made ready.

As she made her way to find her horse, she saw Doran himself finishing the preparation, tightening the saddle, adjusting the reins.

“Is all well?”

He turned to see the princess standing by him, a little surprised not to have heard her approached.

She was clothed once again in sable, her dress and cloak now clean and dry. The marks of her journey, the few scratches on her face and the bandage on her arm, were still evident, incongruous against the formality of her dress. She seemed unaffected by the imperfection.

“Very well, my lady, for a safe journey.” The royal party’s horses were indeed fine animals, too fine for his stable, he felt.

“I hope it will be more uneventful than the last,” Mírra replied with a half-smile.

She stepped closer, gently raising a hand to let the mare take in her scent. The animal fluttered its nostrils, allowing Mírra to place her hand on the bridle, and stroke its nose.

“I always wanted to ride as fast as I could,” she said softly. For a moment Doran was unsure whether he should respond, but she continued, voicing uncertain thoughts aloud. “But my choice of horse did not help me very much, on this last journey.”

Doran placed his hand near the horse’s mane, patting its neck.

“I think you need not worry this time, my lady,” he said in his low, even voice. “You can trust her, I think.”

“That is reassuring.” She turned her eyes to Doran again, a trace of uncertainty having left them. “I trust you, as well, my lord.”

 

***

 

Soon enough, all were again gathered near the house, as farewells were made

“I shall not forget your generosity, your kindness,” said Mírra as she hugged Doreth farewell. “We shall see each other again, I hope.”

“I hope so as well,” replied the fair-haired woman, with an effusive smile. “Take care of yourself.”

Not sure of what other gesture to make, Mírra extended a hand to Adair, who gave it a quick kiss.

“We wish you a safe journey, my lady.”

She shook Connor’s small hand, and Nolan’s, and gave a hug to Ailsa, who swiftly rejoined her mother with a shy smile.

Coming to Doran, she again held out a hand. Regarding it for the briefest of moments, he took it. Mírra felt the pad of his thumb rest gently above her knuckle, a touch so unexpectedly light.

“I hope you keep well, my lady.”

Doran pressed his lips simply to her hand, and as he withdrew was once again confronted by her clear gaze that rested softly on him, unwavering, and again he had to remind himself who she was.

“And you, my lord,” she replied softly.

Lingering only for a second, only the barest fraction of time, Mírra released his hand, and turned to find her horse, her cheeks unexpectedly warm.

The King and his son, having made sure all was ready, came to give their own gestures of thanks and farewell.

Aragorn shook hands with Doran and Adair, but came last to Doreth, who he knew had done so much.

“You gave my daughter a safe haven, and for that I am truly grateful. You welcomed her into your home, and so you will be always welcome in mine.” He turned and looked to Adair and Doran, as he finished. “The gates of Minas Tirith shall always be open to you.”

After curtsying, Doreth felt as shy as her daughter, and huddled close to Adair. He put an arm around her, with a knowing smile.

At last the riders were gathered, and all preparations were complete, all farewells made.

As Mírra was seated comfortably on her horse, she gave a wave to her hosts.

“Thank you,” she called out at the last.

The children as well as their parents waved in return, watching the riders turn about.

As he watched the party move off into the distance, Doran’s gaze was fixed on one rider in particular, the young woman and her grey horse. Even still, he did not realise his distraction until his sister’s voice brought him out of it.

“Oh, how simple our life will seem now, without such company,” she said dreamily. “I wonder if we shall ever see such folk again.”

“Indeed,” Doran replied softly, as he joined in turning to go back to the house, Nolan at his side.

The group of riders had just made their way beside the pasture, heading north.

As she rode, Mírra looked back, thinking to catch a last glimpse, but Doran had already turned, and did not see.

 

*******

**Footnotes**

As Aragorn describes: “And high in the north as a challenge to Melkor [Varda] set the crown of seven mighty stars to swing, Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar and sign of doom.” (The Silmarillion, p 45)

 


	12. Travellers Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

  
Arwen was already awake when dawn came in Minas Tirith, as if her mind anticipated the coming daylight even while she dreamt.

She rolled over to the other side of the bed, which had been empty for the last many weeks. Nestled under the covers, for a long while she lay quietly, watching as a faint beam of light peeked through the curtains. Moments passed slowly as the room became filled with the dim brightness of early morning.

Why do you linger here, when the day awaits you?

Arwen chose not to answer that thought, and only turned over again onto her back, closing her eyes contentedly as she lay against the pillow. It was simply too tempting to stay in the comfort of the bed for as long as she could.

She stretched lazily, and as she relaxed once again, hugged her elbows above her head. The room was getting bright now.

Pushing back the covers, she discovered the room was not as chilly as she expected. The weather was warming, with the onset of late spring. On a whim, Arwen decided against her slippers. As she stepped over to the balcony doors she felt the coolness of the marble underneath her feet.

Opening the curtains, she realised yet again how wonderful it was that their chambers faced east. Arwen smiled at the welcoming picture the sky gave her.

She gave a small shiver and rubbed her bare arms, having also neglected her robe. There was still a smile on her face as she went to dress, recalling who was returning to the City today.

 

***

 

“Please, nana?” Lúthea pleaded, resting her hands on the front of the desk.

“I am almost finished, darling, just wait one more moment,” Arwen replied, suppressing a grin.

The Queen sat in her study, completing a last bit of correspondence; it was to the Lady of Ithilien, and she did not want to leave it waiting.

Lúthea was eager for her mother to go with her to the library, as she had been all week.

Just nearby on the desk there was a small stack of letters, the ones that had not been diverted to Edoras. Among the stack were three letters, one for each of the returning travellers, from the Lords of Rivendell. They had arrived last week along with the rest of the delivery.

“There is always more for me to do when your father is absent, I cannot help it,” she finished, momentarily distracted from the last sentence of her letter.

“But he is returning today, so it will not matter now.” Lúthea came around the table, twirling a bit of dark hair between her fingers, and leaned on the back of her mother’s chair.

“Hmm, yes, this afternoon. I suppose you are right.”

Arwen reached for her teacup and took a quiet sip as she waited for the ink to dry; Lúthea assisted the process by blowing softly on the page. After setting the cup down, Arwen folded the parchment neatly, only to find her daughter holding the sealing wax at the ready.

“Alright, I have taken the hint,” the Queen chuckled.

As she at last pressed the stamp into the soft wax, the letter was finished.

“There.” Arwen said, standing to leave.

Before they reached the door, Lúthea paused.

“You do want to look at the new books as well?” she asked apprehensively. “They are from your home, are they not.”

Arwen collected her breath, and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze.

“Of course.” She smiled carefully. “I’m glad you are interested in them, darling.”

This seemed to relieve the young princess.

“Oh good,” she answered, somewhat pleased. “We can finish organising them on the shelves. When I read more, can you help me with any words in the Elvish that I do not know?”

“That I can do,” replied Arwen, with a nod.

 

 

 

They soon reached the small section of the library where space had been made for the new collection from Rivendell. Elladan had been as good as his word, sending more than a few trunks worth of leather-bound volumes. One of the reading rooms had been made available, a more private setting.

Over half of the books were already shelved, and the others simply waited to be catalogued. But it did not seem to matter, as they had arrived only a week ago.

Arwen did not know what was in all of them, but she recognised some collections of poetry, and some fables she had liked when she was young. It seemed well enough for Lúthea though; the young princess’s eyes were almost glazed over as she tried to take it all in.

After glancing through one or two books, the princess paused. She fingered one sleeve

“Maybe we should shelve them first, and then go through them more carefully.”

“Alright,” Arwen looked up from the sonnets she had found. “I can help you with that, if you like.”

They decided to begin a separate shelf for the fiction, apart from the histories and journals that were also among the collection.

As Arwen took book after book from Lúthea, and added them to the shelf, she began to wonder why she had felt such uneasiness at the prospect of this gift from her brothers. Perhaps, in following her daughter’s interest, it might be possible to go back, back to her father’s things…

 

 

Fortunately she did not have time to dwell on the thought, because before long there was a knock at the entrance to the reading room.

Lúthea turned first. “Eldarion!”

She rushed over to greet her brother, who was still in his travelling clothes, his gloves in one hand.

“Now this is a friendly greeting,” he chuckled, bending to receive a hug from Lúthea.

Arwen came down from her step-stool, and took her turn to embrace her son warmly.

“Suilad, naneth,” Eldarion smiled.

“You did not return alone?” his mother asked with wry curiosity. “Or was Rohan simply not to your liking?”

“No, not to worry, I simply rode ahead,” he reassured her. “Adar should be following with Mírra in just an hour or so.”

“Everything is well, then?” Arwen asked quietly.

Eldarion noted the tone of her voice. His father had written to Minas Tirith to let his mother know of what had happened, but he did not know how much Lúthea was aware of. He related only as much as he needed to.

“It is,” the prince replied cautiously, “there were some… unanticipated events on the initial journey. But all is well now. I am sure Mírra can tell you more.”

Arwen laid a hand on his arm. “I will look forward to that.”

Lúthea, looking from one of them to the other, piped up again.

“You must see what we have been doing Eldarion. Our uncles did sent the books after all, just as promised!”

“Ah, wonderful! But you will have a head start on me now, I think,” he finished with a wink.

“It is not a race, you know,” replied the princess in mock jest.

“Of course, how silly of me.” The prince set his gloves down on one of the tables, and began to remove his cloak. He did not need to go to change yet. “So tell me, what is there to see here?”

 

***

 

“Mmm,” Mírra sighed with some satisfaction, as she began to work a comb through clean, damp hair, “As exciting as travelling is, I will never grow tired of returning to hot baths.”

Arwen chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed in her daughter’s chamber.

“I am glad there is something in the city that still tempts you,” she said with a wink. “You enjoyed seeing some of Rohan, then?”

“Oh, what wonderful country it is. So different from here. There is plain all around Edoras, except for the hill of the city.”

“Perfect for riding, but windy, as I recall.”

Mírra nodded. “The plains do not have nearly so many trees, though, to make chases as interesting,” she finished with a laugh.

Seeing her daughter begin to finger a section of her hair into a braid, Arwen extended a hand. “Come, let me do that for you.”

Mírra came over amiably beside her mother. The two women sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, as Arwen formed one long, tight braid in the dark hair. It was simple and neat, which was all Mírra wanted.

“There, that should stay,” Arwen said as she finished, smoothing a hand over the dark queue of hair.

“Thank you,” Mírra smiled.

The princess sat in her robe. In front of her on the bed was her sable travelling dress that she had discarded before bathing. She took it up on her lap, noting the torn pocket on the front. There had seemed to her no reason not to continue to wear it, despite its present condition.

“How I used to hate wearing dresses for riding,” she said with a sigh, “The skirts would always be in the way.”

“This garment has certainly seen better days,” observed Arwen.

Mírra at first only nodded in response.

“I hope you were not too concerned… when you received word?”

“I was of course, sell-nîn,” said Arwen softly as she drew an arm around her shoulders, “But then I was only glad to hear you were safe. And to hear you found help, from friendly folk.”

Mírra ventured a smile.

“They… they were so very kind to me. Even before they knew who I was.”

“A family?”

Mírra nodded, telling her mother of the people who hosted her for two nights. But Arwen could see she did not want to dwell on such tales. After a short while Mírra drew in a breath, and blinked as if bringing herself out of reflection.

“I should perhaps dress, for dinner will be soon.”

“Of course. I should like to hear more tales from your adventure tonight.”

“No doubt Lúthea will as well,” said Mírra conspiratorially.

“No doubt.”

Arwen hesitated before rising to leave, and as she drew her arms around her daughter once more, Mírra hugged back.

“I’m alright naneth, I promise.”

“It is still good to have you back,” whispered Arwen.

Mírra only silently embraced her mother in reply, not wanting to admit, despite the excitement of the Rohan capital, how much she had wanted to return home.

Arwen kissed her daughter’s forehead, and with another squeeze of her shoulder, rose and left the chamber.

 

 

Now alone, Mírra looked down at the dress on her lap, fingering the torn section of fabric. She could not explain why she had wanted to keep it, nor could she explain why she had kept the scrap that had been torn.

Crossing over to her dressing table, Mírra found the small piece of sable cloth that Doran had given to the King, at her urging. Her father had returned it to her, when they had met up again, along with her lost necklace.

She ran her fingers over the figure of the white tree, over the texture of the embroidery. She still remembered how it had felt to press it into his hand, and how warm his eyes had been when she had met his gaze.

It had been over a month ago, and despite the weeks at Edoras, the part of the journey that was foremost in her mind were those two nights in the country. Is that sensible? she chided herself. It certainly was not expected.

But then, there were so many aspects of the journey that had been unexpected.

Reluctantly Mírra tucked the scrap of fabric into the pocket of her robe.

Through the windows she could see the last hour of daylight fading from the sky. She stepped over to the casement, and opened one window to let in a faint breeze of early evening.

Far below the palace was the city, but there was not much sound to be heard. She knew she would not hear any crickets tonight, but she strained her ears all the same.

 

***

 

Supper passed with enthusiastic conversation from all sides. They were content, the six of them.

It surprised Mírra to hear so much conversation from her sister, as Lúthea explained all the things that had happened over the last month – the new addition to the library not the least cause of her excitement.

The drama of Mírra’s accident was soon forgotten as she and Eldarion told of the family that had so kindly hosted them.

Aragorn was happy to keep quiet, contributing his own tales when necessary, but for the most part enjoying Elenna’s company. The youngest princess sat on her father’s lap, and even as her bedtime drew near, she shared as much laughter as she inspired in her family members; trying to keep up with the conversation was easy enough, even if her words made sense to noone but her.

 

 

Following the meal, the King returned to his study to find what waited him, and he found that the prince was equally eager to get to his own correspondence. Despite the ease in Eldarion’s posture, an ankle resting on one knee as he read, Aragorn saw his son concentrating intently on the letter in his hands.

“Is there much news?”

Eldarion looked up to reply.

“Lord Faramir tells me of the White Company’s plans for this year.” Seeing his father nod, Eldarion continued slowly. “And… my uncle Elrohir writes again. He is curious about recent news from Ithilien.”

“That is all?” Aragorn knew of his brother’s interest in the prince’s travels.

Eldarion let out a breath.

“He also invites me again to come to Arnor, if I wish.”

“But you have not decided yet.”

“No.” Eldarion scratched his cheek, that was once again clean-shaven. “Should I go?”

“You are asking me for advice, after your last journey?”

“I ask you for advice, especially after what has happened on my last journey.” He straightened, setting both feet on the floor. “I thought I had done everything right, planned it all well.”

“You could not have expected Mírra’s accident, Eldarion, no matter what your previous experiences had been.”

“I fear though, it will still sting my memory for some time,” the prince sighed. “I should have seen the storm coming. I would have, if I had not been… preoccupied.”

The prince fell silent a moment, as Aragorn began to understand.

“You still have not said, why it was you went to Erech. It was the reason for taking the South Road, was it not?”

Eldarion nodded in confirmation. His only surprise was that this conversation had not come sooner, but he had been too careful about raising the issue himself.

“At the time, I was not even sure, myself,” he began slowly. “But I only wanted to see the place for myself, people speak of it with such reverence. People speak of your deeds with such reverence.”

He saw his father shift in his seat, sit up a little straighter as he folded his arms.

“What I mean is, people do tell such tales,” continued the prince quietly, “but I never had a sense of the place itself, and I suppose I wanted only to lay eyes on it. But then when I did see it, it was somehow not what I expected.” Briefly he paused. “The tales are not incorrect, are they?”

“No, I do not suppose they would be,” said his father. “You did once ask me, and I should have been more forthcoming about it.”

Eldarion leaned forward, silently encouraging him to continue.

“It was dark, when I came to Erech. Almost midnight.” Aragorn’s face was a mask, though his voice was calm enough. “At that time it was such a very strange country, there was so much uncertainty surrounding everything we did.”

“Not knowing if the ring-bearer would succeed?”

“And how much Sauron himself was truly aware of. The Battle of the Pelennor could have ended very differently, had we not arrived with the fleet. Truly, there was no other path for me, no other choice but to seek that way, difficult though it was.”

Eldarion shook his head, thinking. “Still, I cannot fathom it… the Dead.”

“Neither could I, to tell the truth. It haunted me for a great while. But I remember at the time, being so focused only on completing the journey.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I think now, you must have had a better sight of it than I did.”

Eldarion met his father’s eye.

“It is not shadowy, or ill-favoured. In fact the place is green with grass, and very quiet, but for wind. Even the great stone seemed calm.”

Aragorn gave a curious smile.

“These are indeed two different places, that we speak of.”

“Yes… and I think I wanted to see what you saw, the way you saw it. But that is impossible, I now realise.”

“I am glad you see it that way. I cannot tell you how to face your future, Eldarion, but it will be your experiences, not mine, that shape who you will be.”

He nodded in recognition. “I know this now. I only wish it had not taken me so long to understand.”

“The influences on your life may not be the same as mine,” said Aragorn, “but you have one thing that I did not, the freedom to decide your path.”

Eldarion let this sink in, feeling as though a gap had been bridged between them, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Then I will make the choice I desire.” He laughed, glancing back at his uncle’s letter. “What ever it turns out to be, at least I will make it freely.”

 

***

 

It was not long after supper when Arwen returned to their chambers, having paid a last goodnight to her daughters.

She found Aragorn on the balcony, hands folded, elbows resting on the railing. His gaze was vaguely directed down, in the direction of the city, but she could tell there were other things on his mind than the activity below.

If he was pensive before departing on a journey, he was no less so upon returning. As Aragorn turned to see his wife come near, she was shaking her head, bemused.

“Will there never be a journey,” she asked as she came to stand beside him, “when you do not return with more questions than answers?”

The King turned light eyes to his wife. Arwen pressed her palm over his, and they laced together their fingers.

“I think you know me well enough to predict the answer to that,” he replied wryly, “but in this case it is our son that returns with the questions.”

Arwen considered his expression, which had the unforced calm of heavy contemplation.

“You mentioned Erech in your letter…” Her voice was soft. “But you did not reveal everything, I could tell.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and drew in a slow breath, exhaling with the same measured pace.

“I had not thought about it for many years. But I should have expected Eldarion’s curiosity.”

“You are not unhappy, that he and Mírra saw it?”

“No.” He gave his head a shake. “No, as strange as it may be for me to remember those deeds, the War is part of their history. And I think that Eldarion rather blames himself more for taking Mírra into danger, than anything else.”

Arwen frowned at this mention.

“I should have accompanied them, perhaps.”

“No, you were right to stay here with the girls, to help Lúthea with the new collection.” There was a reassuring glint in his eye. “Next time.”

“Of course, next time.”

Arwen bit her lip in a smile. She turned to face him, their linked hands falling between them.

“There is one thing though, that I love about when you go away.”

“And what is that?” said Aragorn, bending his forehead to her. She could feel his heavy air of contemplation begin to lift.

“Welcoming you back, when you return.”

His own lips stretched into a smile, against hers.

“Ah, yes,” he replied softly, bringing his free hand to rest lightly on her waist.

Neither one had yet ventured to bring the kiss to completion, as they hovered so very near to each other.

Silently grinning, Arwen’s smile only widened as each time she tilted her head, he found a new position to match it, attempting to ply her lips nearer to his, but without success.

“Do you toy with me, lady?”

“Oh…” She rounded her lips around the syllable in mock pity, stroking her fingertips across his forehead. “Is not my lord happy?” she teased.

“Hmm,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “I think I would feel more welcomed indoors, perhaps.”

Aragorn bent slightly at the knees, only to wrap his arms tightly around Arwen’s waist. She felt the pace of her heartbeat increase, as it always seemed to when he held her so securely.

As he stood, she was lifted just off the ground, and giving a small sound of delight, Arwen comfortably set her arms around his shoulders.

“I believe the bedroom is very welcoming, this evening,” Arwen replied low, with a serious nod. Her husband’s only response was a quiet growl, and again a teasingly lifted eyebrow.

Glancing behind him once, to be sure he was headed in the correct direction, Aragorn slowly stepped back in through the balcony doors, into their chamber.

When they came to the bed Aragorn sat down, only to be pushed farther back on to the mattress by his wife.

“You were saying?” he prompted, pushing hair away from her face as she settled herself atop him.

She only smiled again, her eyes dark. Bending down, she finally kissed him, his warm breath mingling with hers, between parted lips. Aragorn continued to hold her face as they tasted of each other, combed his fingers deep past her hairline.

Parting at last, his gaze was locked with hers.

“And about that welcome?” said Aragorn with a wink.

“Hmm,” Arwen murmured, “I do not think I can tell it to you.”

“No?”

He felt her hands smoothing over his chest, finding the fastenings of his tunic. When she looked back at him there was a renewed glimmer in her eye.

“No, indeed I will have to show it to you…”

Just as she began to slip her hands underneath his tunic, Arwen felt Aragorn’s hands moving over the fabric of her dress, one on her thigh, as the other went over her back.

Their mouths met again, as Arwen leaned in, fitting her body over his, feeling Aragorn unclasp the back of her dress, making way for far less innocent, far more intimate caresses.

 

 


	13. Books and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

  
Although neither the King nor the Queen could tell who woke first, it was with the first light of day that Arwen drifted out of sleep, to feel her husband’s arm resting about her waist.

With sleep still blanketing her consciousness she turned to face him, and in response Aragorn encircled his arm a little closer around his wife’s body.

After a time, it was the King that dared speak first.

“Shall we admit that we must awake?”

His voice was lazy, his eyes still unopened.

Arwen buried her face against his bare chest, murmuring, “Never, if it means moving from the comfort of this bed.”

If it had been hard for her to rise the previous morning, it was even more so now that he was here again. She felt his chest rise as he took a deep breath in, comfortably wrapping his arms around her back, which was also still bare.

After lying in silence for a few moments more, Arwen looked up to see him blinking heavy eyelids.

“Mmm, perhaps we must admit it.”

She rested her cheek on her forearm as she watched his face, realising they were indeed both awake now.

“Tell me about the days of your journey,” she asked calmly.

“You truly wish to begin the morning with this?” said Aragorn bemusedly, rubbing one eye.

“Well, we did end the evening with it, before we were, ah, distracted…”

“True enough,” he smiled, “but I thought you would have had an earful last night.”

“Eldarion and Mírra did talk of Rohan, of course. But as to the rest, I think they do not wish to alarm me, somehow.”

Aragorn sat up a little against the headboard, causing Arwen to do the same, pulling the sheet up around herself.

“I take it that my business with Éomer at Edoras is not what you wish to hear more about.” There was a knowing tone in his voice.

Arwen shook her head.

“I know it all worked out for the best, and it was over a month ago now, but… I still wonder how Mírra is, with all of this.”

“I believe it was only later, that she realised how serious things could have been. It may have distracted her somewhat from the remainder of the journey.”

“It was lucky that she found the help she did.”

Aragorn smiled. “That is likely part of the reason for our calmness, in the end, for she had very welcoming hosts for those few days. They were friendly to us all, really.”

“I am so very glad it worked out for the best.”

“I think it did.”

Aragorn ran his fingertips underneath Arwen’s hand, lightly tickling her palm.

“But all this time I have hardly heard of your days here. What of the things Elladan sent?”

“From Imladris’ library, you mean?”

“Of course. I thought you would have had much to tell me about it.”

Arwen remained quiet, smiling somewhat awkwardly and rubbing one arm as if from a chill.

“I will, certainly. Let me first get my robe.”

She quickly slipped out of bed to fetch the garment, slipping the ends of the sash tightly together as she put it on. Inwardly she chided herself, at feeling so wary of this.

When she came back to the bed, Aragorn was sitting up, hands folded in his lap. His expression was intent, fixed on Arwen.

“You were pleased to receive the collection, I thought?”

“Of course I was.” She knelt beside him, over the covers.

Aragorn was aware of the measured tone in her response. If she was avoiding the subject, it did not entirely surprise him, but neither did it comfort him.

“How much of it… is his?”

Arwen bit her lip softly, meeting Aragorn’s eyes.

“There are some log books, journals. Maps as well. But in truth I have looked at very little of it yet.”

He noticed her beginning to rub her arm again.

“Has Lúthea asked questions?”

She shook her head.

“No, and I am… a little unsure of what I would say to her, beyond what the children already know.” She met his eyes again, and spoke abruptly to reassure the flicker of concern she saw in them. “In time, I will, but perhaps not yet.”

Their children did know that Arwen’s parents had passed away. But since Aragorn’s parents were no longer living, from their perspective there was little difference. Their grandparents were simply a part of the past.

“I had thought it might be an opportunity for you to share with them…”

“I know, but not yet.”

Her voice was firm, and it surprised both of them. The intentness in Aragorn’s eyes gave way fully to concern.

“Forgive me, dearest. I will not press you.”

“I am sorry, it is just…” Arwen swallowed, as she began to stumble over her words. “I know they will want to learn, Lúthea especially. But I am not yet sure how much I can… handle just yet. She is free to explore what she wishes, certainly.”

Aragorn regarded his wife for a moment, considering this. It was plain that the subject was difficult for her, and they had been reluctant to broach it in the past. He took her hand again, gently.

“You know you may always speak to me. Of anything, meleth-nîn.”

“I know it.” She nodded again, meeting his eyes with a faint smile. “Ah, perhaps you are right,” she whispered, trying to collect herself, “Perhaps we should have begun the day with something else.”

He became quiet again briefly, but then began to rub his thumb over the back of Arwen’s hand.

“It is not too late to start over.”

She smiled gradually, reflecting her husband’s expression.

“You had something in mind?”

“Hmm, nothing at present. But perhaps if we lie here long enough, we might think of something.”

Slowly Arwen eased herself on to Aragorn’s lap, placing her arms lightly around his neck.

“Perhaps this may help…”

As she pressed her lips over his, Aragorn moved his hands over her back, drawing her towards him. He released her from the kiss, only to begin anew, lips merging delicately, delightfully.

Just last night it had been her who had drawn him out of his pensive state, and now it was the opposite, Arwen realised. It was so easy to forget all else, when she settled into his embrace.

“For my part, I would much rather stay here with you, than think about the meetings that wait for me,” he murmured against her cheek.

“Then shall I sit with you this morning?” she offered.

Aragorn withdrew a little. “Would not Lúthea mind the absence of your company?”

“I think she will understand. But then, it is you who have been absent from my company for the last few weeks, and I am reluctant to let go of you.”

“Ah. Then it seems I am at your mercy, for today.”

She gave a small chuckle, kissing the side of his neck. “As you say, my lord.”

 

***

 

Later in the morning, the sunshine was growing high and warm over the south garden of the palace. Mírra lay back on the grass, eyes closed, utterly relaxed.

She could hear a young child giggling nearby, but continued to feign sleep.

After only a minute, the oldest princess was greeted with a small body landing next to her, hands clutching at her skirts.

“Got you Mírra!” Elenna shrieked, grinning widely.

“So you have, you silly thing,” Mírra said as she sat up, quickly grabbing her little sister into her arms.

The little girl continued to giggle, and soon squirmed free.

“And where do you think you are going now?” Mírra teased again, one hand on her hip. She raised the other, and curled an index finger, beckoning. “Come back here, you.”

“Uh uh!” Elenna fairly bubbled over with laughter, and swiftly turned a few steps away. She stopped, as if to make sure her sister would follow. Sure enough, as soon as Mírra began to take some exaggeratedly slow steps forward, the little girl ran farther, shrieking with delight.

“You cannot run forever!”

Elenna made a circuit of the garden, carried forward by her swift little legs, and eventually found her other sister.

“Help!” she laughed, grabbing Lúthea’s arm.

The second princess had been, up until that point, calmly reading at one of the benches in the garden. She knelt on the grass, a book spread open before her on the bench as if it was a table.

“I do not think I can help you here, Elenna,” Lúthea said with a trace of amusement.

Mírra came up as well, a little breathless.

“I’m sorry we distracted you.”

She sat down next to the bench as well, and pulled her littlest sister into her lap. Elenna seemed to have happily tired out, and sat quietly. Mírra found a stray bit of lavender that had fallen next to the bench, and tucked a blossom behind the little girl’s ear.

“What are you looking at today?” asked the oldest princess.

“It’s one of the new books, an annotated atlas of Arnor,” Lúthea explained, “The illustrations are so unlike the ones here, so many lovely colours and styles of line.”

“Oh yes?”

“I like this section the best,” Lúthea pointed to a page heading. “It has all about the Bruinen valley, and Imladris, where our uncles live.” She turned a few pages eagerly. “The river ends in a large waterfall. It is the biggest river in that part of the country, and very fast flowing…” suddenly Lúthea stopped short, with an awkward glance to her sister, realising what she was talking about. “Oh… I did not mean…”

“It is alright, Lúthea, you may talk about rivers,” Mírra said gently. “I shall not fall apart.”

“I’m sorry. I only was not sure.”

Mírra looked down at Elenna, sitting in her lap. The little girl had plucked another piece of lavender, and placed it into Mírra’s palm, making her smile.

“I cannot help but think about the river, it is true,” she said softly. “But I also think about the people I met there.”

“Doreth seems kind, from what you told us yesterday.”

“She was. Her brother Doran, as well.” Mírra pursed her lips gently, trying not to give away too much. “I should very much like to visit with them again.”

“Perhaps you will. One never can tell.”

“True.”

Lúthea looked back down at the pages in front of her, resting her cheek on her elbow.

“I’ve been here all morning, and Eldarion has still not come to meet me.” She began to look a little glum.

“He was supposed to?”

“Yes, when I told him last night that I was going to look at this atlas, he said he was curious about it as well. But I guess his sword training took too much time.”

“Well.” Mírra rose, setting Elenna down next to her sister. “Then I shall go and find him.”

 

***

 

“Have you really been here all morning?” Mírra called out to her brother, upon reaching the training hall.

Eldarion saw her, and after nodding to his opponent and setting down his blade, came over to join her.

“Lúthea’s been waiting for you.”

The prince winced a little. “Ah, I forgot.”

“What’s going on?” Mírra asked curiously.

“Let me just say I needed some time to work things out, for myself.” He began to catch his breath as the two sat down. “I had been staring at letters and papers for too long, I think.”

His sister shook her head. “We’ve hardly been home for a day, and you already have concerns.”

Eldarion grinned sheepishly, but his eyes were still alert.

“I have been thinking on it for quite a while, I now realise. But it is time to stop thinking and just go.”

“Go?”

“North,” he said firmly. “I have decided to accept our uncle Elrohir’s offer.”

Mírra looked to him with surprise evident on her face.

“Truly? You are going to Arnor?”

The prince nodded. “I will leave as soon as everything can be made ready, I think.”

“Do naneth and adar know?”

Eldarion shook his head. “I only just knew myself, I think.”

“Hm.”

It was only after Mírra did not respond further, that Eldarion wondered how much his decision had taken her aback.

“I’m aware this must seem sudden,” he admitted.

Mírra gave a half-smile, turning up one corner of her mouth. “I had been so used to you going to Ithilien every year. It will be different to have you so far away, is all.”

“I wondered if you might be envious.”

“Oh, well, you need not worry, Eldarion,” Mírra began slowly, “Perhaps I was a little more anxious to travel than I should have been.”

“Mírra… you are still alright, after all that has happened?”

The princess let out a breath in exasperation.

“Why does everyone keep asking that? I am fine, please, stop worrying.” She saw Eldarion nod, but it was his turn to remain quiet in response. Mírra quickly returned to the topic at hand.

“You will be able to see much of the same country that father did when he was your age.”

“Ah you would bring that up wouldn’t you?” Eldarion gave his sister a nudge. “Yes, there will be much to do near Rivendell, I think. I will not be able to return for Midsummer, and the festival, but when I think of what could be accomplished in the meantime, I do not mind that.”

“Midsummer… of course.” Mírra’s expression appeared as though an idea had just come to her.

Eldarion took her silence for disappointment, and continued teasingly. “Will you survive, being the oldest one of us present?”

The princess turned back to her brother, a sparkle in her eyes. “I think I may manage without you.”

With that she bid him farewell for the afternoon, and left the hall with a renewed lightness in her step.

“Where are you going so fast now?” Eldarion called after her.

“To see father,” she replied, turning around as she walked, “about an invitation.”

 

***

 

In the country, far removed from the White City, the sky was just as bright with sunshine.

Doran had spent a busy day in the stables, a change from the last few weeks. Most of the early spring had been taken up with the sheep, and Adair had required more of his assistance than usual. Today was the first time in over a week that Doran had been able to spend the entire day tending to the horses.

It was not an expansive stable, by any means. That one week, when they had given some assistance the royal party, there had barely been enough room to house all the horses that had come with the guests.

There were, however, enough animals for their small community of shepherds and weavers, enough to make the ride to Edoras worthwhile, once every year or two.

He did wonder, from time to time, that the stables had the potential to be much more than they were now. But for the moment Doran’s thoughts were solely occupied with the mud that was caked over the horseshoe at his fingertips.

He was tending to a chestnut brown gelding who was rather unenthusiastic at the attention he was receiving. The animal shook its mane impatiently and released its leg from Doran’s grasp.

The man stood up to his full height and looked disapprovingly at the horse.

“You make this worse on yourself you know. I could have been finished long ago, without your impatience.”

The horse remained unconvinced, and snorted once.

“Suit yourself,” replied Doran, shaking his head.

He bent again, and with more gentleness than one would expect from a man of such large build, tugged at the horse’s foreleg to raise the hoof for continued cleaning.

Doran thought he could hear one of the sheepdogs barking outside, but ignored it as he continued to pick at the horse’s hoof.

Soon enough, the two young boys cheerfully ran into the stables to find him.

“Papa, papa! There is a messenger just come!”

As Nolan and Connor came running into the stables, a black and white sheepdog followed them. The dog wagged its tail happily, encouraged by the boys’ excitement, and barked once as it came near Doran.

The noise was enough to startle Doran, and the tool at his hand slipped and hit the sensitive spot at the centre of the horse’s hoof. The animal whinnied and dropped its leg, planting the hoof heavily on the tip of Doran’s toe, making him let out a loud growl.

“Nolan, take the dog out of here!” he said sharply, feeling his foot begin to throb with pain.

“Sorry, father.” The boy obeyed quickly, seeing Doran’s reaction, and ran back out with his cousin and the errant animal.

Doran glared at the horse once more.

“It seems I will have to concede this one to you, but we are not done yet.”

He set down his tools and exited the stables, grimacing a little. The boys waited just outside, a little expectantly.

“I’m sorry, papa,” Nolan repeated.

“It no matter, Nolan,” Doran sighed. “What is it you had come to tell me?”

The blond boy’s face brightened again. “A messenger has just come, and there is a letter.”

“A letter from the Royal City!” added Connor.

The fair-haired man regarded the two boys a little more closely. They had obviously been working hard to contain their enthusiasm.

“Is that so?” he inquired wryly, “From Minas Tirith?”

“Yes, and you must come to the house and see, so my aunt says,” explained Nolan.

“Then so I will. Give me a moment to finish here, I will follow presently.”

“Alright, papa.”

The two boys hurried off across the pasture, back to the main house. Squinting in the bright sun, it took Doran a moment to collect himself as he watched them run off.

He walked slowly over to a nearby water basin in the shade of the side of the stable. His toe still throbbed, but it was fading. After cooling his face with a handful of clear water, Doran leaned back against the wall for a brief moment.

A letter.

Would it be what he hoped it would be?

 

***

 

After dinner that evening, activity around the main house settled into the normal quiet routine, but the day’s news had certainly had an effect on the family. Doreth was not entirely surprised to see her husband, but she did not expect him to be so solitary on tonight of all nights.

Stepping outside to where Adair sat, pipe in hand, looking out over the small hillside. From where he sat on the grass there was often a pleasant view to be had in the evenings, with the stars and dark sky shrouding the green pasture.

“I thought you would be more excited than this, to receive such an invitation.”

Doreth knelt down on the grass to sit close to her husband. It was a warm night, and she did not even need a shawl.

“To have an invitation from the King, for the Midsummer festival?” He shook his head. “It is certainly unexpected. I suppose I am only a little overwhelmed.”

“Do you not remember,” Doreth began, slipping her arm through her husband’s, “His highness told us we would be welcome in his home?”

“I do remember that.” Adair nodded, pursing his lips momentarily around the end of his pipe. “But what would folk like us have to do there? Would be not be out of place?”

“He does not seem to think so. Her ladyship, the princess, does not seem to think so either, or she would not have written her own message, along with the King’s.”

She watched her husband take another puff on his pipe, still thinking.

“It would mean a week’s ride. What about the children? And who would tend to this place, while we are away?”

He met her glance sidelong, knowing this would do little to persuade his wife. Although it had been an entirely different matter while they had been in the company of the royal party, Doreth was now the most keen.

She shrugged her shoulders a little awkwardly, thinking as well.

“It is still a month away. You and Doran might make arrangements with the shepherds in the meantime. I could do the same for the ladies, and the spinners.”

Adair was half-smiling now, all too well aware of how difficult it would be to dissuade his wife in this matter.

“I suppose there is nothing that the boys would like better, than to see more of the country.”

Doreth’s expression lightened. “Ailsa will be alright, we can help her along.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Think of it, Adair, the White City…” Doreth said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Adair shook his head again, but this time pulled an arm around his wife’s shoulders to hold her close.

“It is unimaginable.”

 

***

 

Doran had looked at the invitation four times already, just to make sure he had not misread it.

But even as he went to check once more, the writing was still just as it had been, with the King’s seal and signature to match. The princess herself had even added a note of her own.

“I should very much like to see you all again. I hope you will come.” And her name was underneath.

Doran ran his fingers over the page, smiling faintly to himself. He knew it was folly to think this way. But then, how many years had it been, since something had stirred him so? And how could they refuse an invitation such as this?

He set the letter down again on the table in front of him, just as Adair and Doreth entered the house again.

“I hope you do not need convincing, as well,” said his sister with a broad smile as she came over.

“Well, now that surprise has subsided, I do not think so,” Doran replied, his own smile a little fainter.

“I’m so glad.”

Giving a stretch, Doran rose to his feet.

“I should find Nolan to leave, it is growing late.”

“Ah, you need not worry on that, Doran,” his sister reassured him. “He may sleep here at any time, you know that.”

“I do.” He stood briefly in silent reflection, rubbing his bearded chin. “I think I will head back myself, in any case.”

“Nolan will not mind, I’m sure.”

Doran paid his good nights, especially to his son, who had already fallen asleep in the sitting room.

As he started the walk down the hill to his own house, past the stable and the pasture, the moon and stars were enough to light the way.

He should not make too much of things. The invitation was for all of them, not him alone. But it was enough to pleasantly occupy his thoughts, as he walked in the warm night air.

There were some evenings when the walk seemed lonely, to leave a house of such constant activity, and return to another one, that was so much quieter.

But tonight, somehow, it was different.

 


	14. Reacquainting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

“You have everything you require?”

It was the morning before the prince’s departure for the north, and the Queen was looking in on her son as he pored over some papers in the study. Her youngest daughter was on her arm.

“Of course, naneth, it has all been checked many times over,” Eldarion stood and smiled as he saw his mother peering in from the doorway. “And Imladris’ cupboards are certainly not bare.”

Arwen set down Elenna and entered the room with her usual soft step. The little girl tottered forward to her brother's desk, her light eyes bright. She held her cloth toy, in the shape of a horse, securely in one hand.

“I know, but I cannot help it. I have fussed over you for twenty years, I shall not stop now.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to let you.” He looked down at Elenna, who had wandered up to the side of the desk. “Luckily there is still you to fuss over as well, tim-gwenn.”

Elenna giggled as Eldarion tickled her cheek, but recovered well enough to begin playing again, letting her little horse gallop along the edge of the desk. She began a circuit of the large table, with faint sound effects to match.

Eldarion shook his head with amusement, and tapped the papers in his hands on the desk’s surface, tidying the pile. Arwen watched as he set them back in their leather folder, grouping them together with another one.

“You will not be needing this correspondence then?”

“No, I was only giving it one last read over. Primarily letters from Annúminas, but I have most of the information I need.”

“Your time will be divided between there and Imladris, I gather?”

Eldarion nodded. “From what I understand, when the borders of the Shire were extended, it caused Annúminas to be more isolated from the rest of Eriador. We need to secure better travel routes across the northern provinces.”

“On his last visit, Elrohir said they had been hosting less Dúnedain than in the past,” Arwen reflected. She leaned back against the edge of the desk, extending a hand to Elenna, who chattered happily to her equine friend. “And it seems that the northern capital is becoming stronger, even though Ithilien has needed the most attention recently.”

“You are right about that. I cannot wait to see it all.” Eldarion’s face was bright and calm.

The Queen looked quizzically at her son. For the past few years he had been so dedicated to proving himself with the White Company, and now all that energy was being directed to an entirely different task. She knew he would only be embarrassed to have it pointed out to him, so she held her tongue.

“What is it, naneth, you are looking at me strangely,” said the prince with a sidelong glance to his mother.

Arwen chuckled. “It is… just that usually you are so contemplative before departing on long journeys. It is a pleasant change to see you cheerful about it this time.”

“Ah, well, I suppose I must admit to that.” Eldarion sat back against the desk next to the Queen, folding his arms. “I think I was so intent on living up to father’s experiences that I forgot about my own. I must simply accept that it is not the same country that he knew.”

Neither the same that I knew, thought Arwen. “Has your father told you about Eriador? About the places he knew well?”

“Certainly about Bree,” Eldarion grinned, “But of course that will not have much bearing on the political dealings of the Edain or Elves, to be sure.” Arwen suppressed a laugh as she listened. “Adar did have much to say about the Misty Mountains, and also the North Downs, near Fornost. But I think he is never as interested in speaking of those places as he is of Rivendell.”

“Yes?” Arwen’s eyes sparkled just slightly as she waited for her son to continue.

“Indeed. He described the valley, and the roar of the falls. He said that because the place was so welcoming, his return from travelling was always that much better than the journey ever could have been.”

“And so departures were always that much more difficult, as well,” Arwen murmured.

Eldarion regarded her curiously, half-wondering if she would continue. He began to think it was not only his father’s departures that she was referring to.

When Arwen turned her eyes back to her son, she was subtly struck with a memory of her brothers preparing to leave their home, as they did often when she had been younger. She placed a hand to the side of Eldarion’s face, almost in a gesture of appraisal. Not only his father’s son, but the son of all his forefathers.

Eldarion saw his mother’s eyes growing damp, although her smile persisted.

“You are not unhappy, to have me go?”

Arwen withdrew her hand, to lay it on Eldarion’s arm. Her light touch reassured him. “Of course not, mell ion-nîn,” she spoke softly.

Elenna appeared at her brother’s side, tapping at his knee with her cloth toy; apparently the horse had found a new landscape to ride across. Eldarion promptly lifted her up, which pleased her greatly.

“When you do reach Imladris,” Arwen began again, feeling cheered by her daughter’s playful gestures, “Do not let Elrohir keep you in the study and library too much. The valley is too beautiful to be ignored.”

“Of course I shall see as much as I can. You must have favourite spots to recommend, surely?”

The Queen was silent for a brief moment as she pondered his question. “There is one path,” she began gently, “That leads from the northern entrance to the house, up the slope of a hill. On that hill there are holly berries in the winter, but at this time of year the trees are very fragrant. After a short walk the path opens to over look the valley.” Arwen moved her reflective expression to meet Eldarion’s eyes. “The view of the river, the house, and the valley from that location is quite lovely.”

The prince matched his mother’s faint smile. “I shall not forget to find it then.”

Still caught in reflection, Arwen moved a hand out to Elenna’s head, smoothing over the waves of her brown hair. The girl reached out for her mother in turn, and happily changed places to sit in Arwen’s arms.

When her brothers had visited last, they had asked the Queen when she would pay her next visit to Imladris. When you are grown older, Arwen thought, looking down at her daughter. That was my answer. It was an easy excuse to make, but she wondered if it was truly anything more than that, an excuse.

For now, it was enough to focus on the events at hand, to encourage her son’s own exploration. It was the most confident she had seen him since beginning with the White Company a few years ago.

“Well,” she said, her expression lifting, “Be sure to give Imladris my warmest regards, no matter what you do there.”

The prince smiled, his dark grey eyes calm.

“Of that you can be sure, naneth.”

 

***

 

Just a few weeks after the prince’s departure, a few days before Midsummer beckoned, a different group was preparing to make an arrival in the White City.

Doran, Adair, and Doreth had been surprised and pleased to find a royal escort waiting for them and their children at Calembel. While they had never before embarked on such an expedition as a family, the weather had been kind to them. For the second half of the journey, the two boys had been quietly impressed by and curious of the royal guards that accompanied them.

Late in the morning of their last day of travel, the group made their final river crossing at Erui, and soon after their destination became visible.

Seeing the travellers’ reacting upon first viewing the White City, the lead guard halted to allow them a moment of pause.

“That time when I saw you riding with the King himself,” Doreth told her brother, her voice filled with awe, “it was certainly an unexpected sight. But this sight here is of an entirely different kind.”

Before them stretched the final expanse of the White Mountains, and at the end was Minas Tirith, its gleaming towers set high in the base of Mount Mindolluin. The palace was highest of all the seven tiers, wrapping around the mountain with lookouts, courtyards and parapets.

“The city is as big as the mountain,” said Nolan from his seat with his father, sounding as awed as his aunt.

“It does seem that way,” agreed Adair. “Much bigger than our corner of the world, certainly.”

“Then it is well indeed,” added Doran amiably, “That we are not strangers to its entire population.”

“True enough,” Doreth agreed softly.

Sensing the group had taken enough time, the lead guard made ready to move again. “It should only be an hour more until we reach the city, and then his highness may receive your arrival. Come,” he said with a formal but polite nod, “Please follow me.”

 

 

For Doran, from the moment they passed through the city’s enormous mithril gates, all pretence of familiarity seemed to vanish. With its impressive setting in the mountain, and so many inhabitants, Minas Tirith was far more expansive than Edoras. The day’s high sunshine gleamed from the city’s white walls and the silver helms of the royal guards that stood outside every entrance of the Citadel.

After leaving the horses outside the Citadel, the family was escorted to the palace, through many sets of gates and up several grand staircases. Doran could feel his son’s small hand gripping his, as Nolan watched with curiously amazed eyes everything that they passed by.

They had naturally worn their finest clothes, and Doreth had even newly dyed dresses for herself and Ailsa, but it still seemed too basic for an audience with the King and Queen, and the princess royal.

When the King did greet them, however, Doran found him to be as direct as he had been at their meeting near the Morthond river, over a month ago.

“Welcome to Minas Tirith,” said Aragorn as he rose from the marble dais where he was seated.

Standing next to his seat was a tall woman who could only be the Queen; an elf-lady with dark hair and a gentle expression. She closely resembled her oldest daughter, who stood with her.

The men and boys bowed, and Doreth and Ailsa curtsied as Aragorn came near to greet them. Doran shook his hand warmly.

“It is most kind of you to receive us, your majesty.”

“Please, it is but little repayment for the help you have already given my family.” He turned next to shake Adair’s hand, nodding also to Doreth next to him. “I trust your journey was well?”

“Very well, your highness. The escort was very welcome.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Arwen and Mírra had approached as well, to make the acquaintance of the newcomers. Aragorn extended a hand to Arwen.

“Please meet my Lady Arwen.”

The Queen extended a hand to Doreth first.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last, after hearing so much of you from my daughter.”

“Oh, it was nothing, your highness.” The blond woman blushed furiously.

“And Mírra you know well, of course,” Aragorn finished.

The princess had already stepped forward to greet her friends, and immediately took Doreth into a warm embrace, a gesture that made both the King and Queen smile. The children seemed much more at ease as well.

“I am so glad to see you all again,” Mírra said as she then curtsied to give Adair her hand.

“And you, my lady,” said Doreth’s husband with a friendly nod.

As she came at last to Doran, the princess felt strangely shy, and kept her eyes down as she let him take her hand.

“My lady,” he said as he brought his lips briefly to the princess’s hand, “It is good to see you looking so well.”

Mírra recognised the low, gentle tone of voice that she had known since the day Doran had found her. Hearing it was enough to draw her glance upward, to meet his warm eyes. She felt her cheeks grow slightly flushed.

“Thank you for coming.”

After all introductions were made, the Queen announced two attendants to lead the guests to their quarters.

“You must be in need of refreshment from your journey,” Arwen spoke warmly. “Your chambers have been made ready. Please, take as much time as you need before dinner.”

“We are most grateful, your highness,” said Doran, giving a slight bow at the neck.

Nolan was still standing next to his father, having moved from awe to quiet eagerness of the new place he found himself in. Just before following to find their chambers, the boy looked back to Mírra.

“Will we sit with you at dinner tonight?”

The princess gave a broad smile. “Of course.” She caught Doran’s eye once more, slightly less hesitantly. “It would be my pleasure.”

The tall, fair-haired man gave a nod in response, and although it was no different to any other he had given to any of the others in greeting, there was something in it that caused her smile to become much warmer.

“They seem to be quite fine people,” said Arwen.

At her mother’s remark Mírra found herself even more aware of every gesture she had just made, wondering if anything was out of place.

“They are, truly.” Turning to her father, Mírra could think of nothing else to do than put her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much for inviting them, ada.”

Aragorn chuckled. “You are quite welcome, mír-nîn.”

 

***

 

“Is this going to be a dinner where I don’t know anyone?” Lúthea asked her older sister as they walked to the hall.

“No, you know me and mother and father of course.”

The younger princess frowned a little.

“That isn’t what I mean.” Lúthea was happy to meet Mírra’s friends, but on such occasions she often sat quietly, thinking about what she could be reading, or something she could be stitching instead of sitting and listening to other people’s important conversations. “I shall be too young to talk to the older people, and too old to talk with the children,” she sighed.

“Oh, you need not worry too much about it.” Mírra linked an arm through her sister’s. “Doreth is quite friendly, and she is a weaver too.”

“She is?”

“And she spins wool as well, since Adair keeps the sheep.”

Mírra could see Lúthea beginning to cheer, even though she kept silent.

 

 

Dinner itself proved to be a merry affair, with the guests being alternately enthralled and excited by their new surroundings and royal hosts.

There was no shortage of conversation, as the men and women both found similar interests. The Queen stayed quiet for much of the evening, but listened attentively as Mírra and Doreth recounted yet again how the princess came to stay with them.

Sitting across the table from him, Mírra could not help subtly observing Doran over the course of the evening.

He was seated next to her father, and she caught stray fragments of conversation about the horses Doran kept, about their property near the Morthond river. Nolan sat on his other side, a good five years younger than Lúthea, watched the conversation eagerly, peeking out from blond hair that matched his father’s. His fair blue eyes he must have had from his mother, Mírra guessed, but she knew little of Doran’s late wife.

Doran calmly kept one hand at his wine goblet as he talked. There were creases around his eyes whenever he smiled. He laughed rarely, but Mírra liked the way his cheeks reddened when he did. It was hard to believe her time in his company summed to a matter of hours, and still there were so many things about him that she liked.

Her mother’s voice brought Mírra out of her thoughts. “There will be much to keep you occupied this week, I am sure,” said the Queen to the guests, “The upcoming feast and dancing, least of all.”

Across the table Aragorn caught her wink. “Would you like to view some of the city tomorrow? Or perhaps some of the countryside?”

“Mírra knows the mountainside quite well,” Lúthea added.

The oldest princess felt a happy twinge of nervousness in her stomach, hoping her friends would enjoy their time in the new place. “I could show you some of the mountain, if you like. We could ride out, and then go walking.”

“Explore the mountainside?” Doreth sounded quietly eager.

“That would be quite enjoyable, I think,” responded Doran.

“Then we shall venture it,” said Mírra with delight.

 

***

 

“That seemed to go well,” mused Aragorn as he walked back with Arwen, to their chambers.

“It did,” she agreed.

“And you were worried about how things would be, without Eldarion here this summer.”

Arwen caught his pursed smile with a sidelong glance. “I never said I was worried.”

“I know you didn’t.” In return he squeezed her hand, ever so slightly.

They reached the chamber after a few moments in comfortable silence. Aragorn let the door close lightly behind them, and leaned back against it as he looked into Arwen’s face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

“I am thinking… that it is good to see Mírra so pleased in the company of her guests. And,” he continued, his voice becoming quieter, “how happy I am, to soon be celebrating another year with you.”

He always could make her smile with such simple declarations, Arwen could not help it. She put her hands to his cheeks, reminding herself once again of the shape of his face, smoothing one thumb over the line of his upper lip.

Feeling Aragorn’s arms moving to encircle her, she leaned against him and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and the heavy velvet of his robe.

“And you?” he asked her in turn.

Arwen answered as best she could, shutting her eyes. “The same.”

They remained standing together at the door, and she could hear his heart beating steadily in his chest. She was content, always content to simply be with him, to let him hold her and envelop her body with his.

Arwen felt him raise one hand to smooth a long braid behind her shoulder, and cup her cheek as she had done. As he bowed his head, she had only to lift her chin for him to pull their lips together for a kiss.

“Take me to bed, meleth-nîn?” Arwen whispered as they separated.

Aragorn’s voice was just as hushed. “’Twould be my pleasure, mellwain.”

 

***

 

The next day, the princess was as good as her word and, leaving the children in the good care of palace attendants, she took Doreth, Doran and Adair to view the mountain. The day was fine as the four made their way up gently sloping paths, past small streams and green foliage. At this time of Midsummer, the trees were at their peak of lushness.

There was a lookout that Mírra intended to reach before they turned back for the day, but it was well past noon before they began to approach the spot.

“It is just up the path this way,” the princess explained to Doran, who walked beside her, “The trees open and there is an old tower. From there we can view the river Anduin.”

Doreth and Adair joined them at a little slower pace, and the other lady seemed fatigued after the morning’s small climb.

“So it please you, Mírra,” she said, a little out of breath, “may I view it after a rest?”

“Of course, it is not my intention to wear you out so early in your visit. I shall sit with Doreth then, if you two would like to go ahead.” She indicated Adair and Doran.

“Certain?” Doran asked.

“Do not worry,” his sister teased, “We shall sit and make ready for lunch until you return.”

“Very well, then.”

The two women stopped at a grassy patch that was strewn with clover, and waited for the men to return. Retrieving a blanket from one of the packs, they spread it out on the ground, and Mírra happily stretched back on the soft blanket feeling the sun warm her face.

“What a lovely afternoon it is.”

“Mmm, indeed,” replied the princess.

When she looked up, she saw Doreth had plucked a few blossoms of the clover, and was twining them together.

“Oh, my sister enjoys making those chains.”

“And my daughter Ailsa also. I shall take this back to her, perhaps,” said Doreth fondly, “She sits for hours in the field playing. And then, Nola did always enjoy flowers as well. You know, I can sometimes imagine them sitting together making crowns for their hair.”

“Nola?”

“Doran’s late wife.” Something touching bashfulness crossed Doreth’s face. “I apologise, my lady, of course you do not know of her.”

“No, but I did not think it polite to ask, either.” Mírra sat up, but there was a pause before the other woman replied.

“My brother rarely speaks of her. But then,” she added almost conspiratorially, “he is not a talkative person at the best of times.”

The princess stretched her lips in a smile. “So I have deemed.” She tucked up her legs in front of her, and folded her arms over her knees. “What was she like, if you do not mind me asking?”

Doreth set the blossoms she had been fiddling with down in her lap. “Well, Nolan does favour her, with his fair face and eyes – it is part of the reason he is named for her. He is cheerful, just like she was.”

“Were they married for very long?”

Doreth shook her head. “It was a few years before Nolan came along, but… Nola grew ill and passed away quite soon after his birth.” The young woman’s expression grew more serious. “She was not very strong, in body I mean. It was too hard on her, having the baby, and it took her strength from her I think.”

Mírra could not tell what to say in response, but her companion could see a look of concern on the princess’ face.

“Aye, it is a sad thing that it happened,” said Doreth with a tone of reassurance, “but we all move on, in the end. My brother was much grieved for her loss, but still he had Nolan. For the first few years Nolan stayed much with me… I do not think Doran knew just what to do, left with a child when his wife had just passed. And it was not long after that, that Adair and I had Connor. I think it helped, in a way.”

“Your two families are very close,” Mírra observed with a smile.

“Ah, we are all one big family. I do not think I would have it otherwise.”

The princess gave a chuckle. Doreth spoke so calmly of her family, and Doran’s past, that it put Mírra more at ease with the subject.

“There we are,” said Doreth, sounding satisfied. She held up her finished ring of clover blossoms, tilting her head to look at Mírra. “A royal lady deserves a royal garland, I should say.”

“Do not be silly, you should wear your work yourself,” Mírra laughed nervously.

But her friend persisted and set the ring of flowers on Mírra’s dark hair.

“Oh, but a crown does suit a princess after all, my lady.”

Seeing Mírra’s faint blush, Doreth could not help giggling. Soon the two women were both dissolved in friendly laughter.

They were interrupted by quick whistle from the edge of the clearing. Looking toward the source of the sound, they saw the two men returning from the lookout.

“What fair maidens have we come upon?”

Mírra turned to see Doran smiling at the two of them. Her hand nervously went to the flowers on her head as she tried to keep the blush on her cheeks from spreading further. She composed herself and knelt properly upright, becoming aware of how girlish she must have seemed at that moment.

“Hungry ones!” Doreth called out, “For we have been waiting all this time for you.”

“A proper view needs the proper time to appreciate it,” Adair told his wife in mock-admonishment.

“The Anduin is quite magnificent, my lady,” Doran said with a glance to the princess.

“I am pleased you think so,” Mírra responded, one side of her mouth curling shyly upwards, “This is one of my favourite places to come to, away from the city.”

“But it does not seem like you were idle in our absence, my lady,” Adair said brightly, indicating the princess’s floral decoration.

“No, this is Doreth’s handiwork,” said Mírra, lifting the crown from her head. “And so she should wear it, I think.”

“Oh, if you insist.” A smile crossed the lady’s face as she accepted the gift.

Adair turned to his brother-in-law. “Well then, we must serve these fine ladies their lunch, should we not?”

“An excellent notion.”

The two men reached for the packs they had brought, and the four companions settled comfortably to their afternoon meal, in the comfort of the summer day.

 

 

As they finished, the sunshine was still just as warm, adding to the group’s thirst. Mírra bade her companions to sit and relax, as she took up one of their water flasks and sought out a nearby stream. There were several streams running down the side of the mountain, but in the heat of summer many of the smaller ones had dried, leaving the wider streams to prevail.

Mírra bent at the water’s edge to fill the flask. As she secured it, a few small stones in the shallower water caught her eye. It would only take a moment… she thought, as a sparkling grin crossing her face.

She set the flask down and straightened, stones in hand, and with a careful flick of the wrist, sent one skipping across the surface.

The stream was wide, but shallow. After a collecting one or two more large pebbles, Mírra found a secure rock upon which to step to the middle of the water, and set the pebbles flying one at a time.

“You have a talent for that, I see.”

Turning with some surprise, Mírra saw Doran standing at the side, waving one hand in a friendly manner.

“I think it is more an amusement than a talent, my lord,” the princess demured. She turned, and began to step back across the large stones, to the water’s edge. “I am sorry to have left you.”

“Do not worry, my lady. The others have gone to view the river, I came only to let you know.”

As Mírra stepped nearer, Doran approached and extended a hand to help her cross. She hesitated only a moment at the unexpected offering. He held his arm out so naturally, that it was only natural to take it.

Doran felt her palm press into his hand, and she stepped toward him. There it was again, that feeling of lightness in his stomach that he felt when she smiled at him, there now as he felt the gentle grip of her hand in his.

There was a fragment of clover still caught in her dark hair. It was all he could do to resist reaching out to brush it away.

“You seem to have a knack for finding me near water,” she said with a trace of nervous laughter, looking up at him.

Doran chuckled lightly. “Then perhaps for safety you should avoid it, except in my company.”

“So be it then, my lord.”

While responding he was momentarily captivated as he met her eyes, with sparkled with her merriment. The irises were the darkest grey, and yet at the centre there was a kind of light, that seemed to shine from behind the black pupils. Why had he not noticed it before, such a peculiar and wonderful brightness?

He must have paused, for within a moment the princess was looking at him quizzically.

“Is something wrong?” Mírra looked down at herself, brushing her hands over her skirts at imagined dust, then smoothing over her hair. Doran watched the piece of clover fall away, as she neatened her appearance, becoming more like the Lady of Minas Tirith he knew she was.

“It is nothing, my lady,” he said calmly, “Shall we join the others, or wait for them here?”

Mírra pursed her lips, eyes twinkling. Perhaps they did not need to go just yet.

 

 

The remaining couple was returning from the lookout point, when Doreth saw something to make them halt in their step.

“No, wait, let us tarry.”

Doreth laid a hand on Adair’s arm, drawing him back from the open path. Just ahead, they could see Mírra and Doran seated next to each other on a large stone near the stream, talking comfortably.

“What do you think?” Adair asked his wife. Almost unconsciously their voices had become hushed.

“I am not sure yet.” The blond woman pensively bit her lip, but there was a sparkle of mischief in her brown eyes.

“They seem to be growing closer.”

“Indeed. If there is something between them,” she whispered, “then I will do nothing to deter it. For this is the most content I have seen my brother in many years.”

Adair nodded in agreement, as they both looked once more toward the seated couple. They briefly heard mild laughter from the princess.

“Do you know,” said the dark-haired shepherd, “I do not think you caught quite enough of the river view. I believe we should go back and have another look.”

His wife grinned back at him. “I think we shall.”

She decorously offered him her hand, and they stepped quietly back on the path, leaving the couple behind them none the wiser.

 

 

*******

**Footnotes:**

Translations (Sindarin):

tim-gwenn = little star girl [tim = little star or spark]  
mell ion-nîn = my dear son  
meleth-nîn = my love  
mellwain = dearest

 

In S.R. 1452 (Fourth Age 31, I think) the Shire was extended to include the Far Downs as far as the Tower Hills. I imagine this would have affected Annúminas; since Men and Elves were not allowed to enter the Shire (due to the decree by King Elessar at the same time), in order to travel south from Annúminas one would have to first go far east, toward Fornost, or far west, toward Lindon.


	15. Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Gondor's royal family, 40 years after the War of the Ring. Arwen/Aragorn, several OCs. More about characters than plot, but things will move along.

Late in the afternoon of Midsummer’s Eve, the King was finishing some last minute business in his study. Having spent much of the last week enjoying the city’s celebration and welcome time with his family, Aragorn had already spent more time on correspondence today than he had intended to.

But then, the Midsummer Festival had also brought many dignitaries to Minas Tirith, as it often did. Though the King was polite enough, it was those meetings that could often be unpredictable.

Just as Aragorn stood and took a sip of the wine in his cup, making ready to leave, there was a knock at the door.

He exhaled shortly. “Yes?”

The attendant gave a short bow from the neck as he entered.

“The Lord Aldor of Fornost, your highness. He requests an audience with you.”

“I have already completed my visits of the day.”

“He is aware of that, my lord, but has only just arrived in the city,” said the young man. “He says it will be brief.”

The King gave a sigh of annoyance. “Very well.” He took his seat again, and fixed a stern expression on his face.

Lord Aldor, a man of fifty or sixty years and a physique that showed signs of being much trimmer in his younger days, entered and bowed low.

“Stay a moment,” said Aragorn with a gesture to the attendant who stood by the door, “This will not take long, I am sure.”

“My most gracious thanks, your majesty, on this generous visit to your fair city.”

“You are welcome to the Festival, my lord. What is your business today?”

The man of the north drew himself up, his cheeks red with pride.

“I only wish to extend thanks on behalf of my city, your majesty, for the recent improvements in trade routes across Arnor.”

“That is good news. My son, the Lord Eldarion, will be only too glad to hear your compliments.”

The man stood somewhat nervously in front of the King’s desk, maintaining a surprising amount of composure.

“Yes, but of course, your highness, I will happily tell him.”

Aragorn watched him shift slightly.

“Is there nothing else?”

Lord Aldor gave a mild cough. “Ah yes, there is one matter, if it please your majesty. My son Alacar, as you know, he has distinguished himself very well in the Arnor guard these last years. He is well known in Annúminas now, but is yet unmarried.”

The King set his elbows on the arms of the oak chair, and folded his hands as he waited for the speaker to continue.

“And, well, Alacar is here with me this week, your majesty. What with the festivities tonight, I only wished to inquire if he might have an audience with the princess royal.”

Aragorn fixed his gaze intently on the visitor.

“My daughter is yet young.”

“If you please, your majesty, the Lady Mírra will be eighteen in the coming month, more than marriageable age, and I am sure if she were to meet my son – ”

“She is still young,” the King repeated, and rose from his chair. “I do not doubt your son’s distinction, my lord, but I shall not have my daughter entertain formal suitors at this time.”

“I can assure your highness that my son’s suit is very worthy,” Aldor protested.

“I do not question his distinction, my good lord.” Lord Aldor had become completely silent. “Should Mírra wish to dance with your son this evening, then he is free to do so. But she shall enter into nothing more.”

“Of course, your highness,” stammered Aldor, “I did not mean to offend. I shall take my leave of you now…”

“You and your son are free to enjoy the festivities.”

Taking a cue from the King’s nod, the attendant moved to hold the door open for the visitor, who left with considerably less confidence than when he arrived.

Aragorn shook his head in puzzlement and drained his cup of wine, finally ready to join his family for the evening.  


***

 

As she looked over her appearance in the mirror, Mírra’s fingers flitted awkwardly over the dark blue silk of her dress, brushing away imaginary bits of fluff. More often than not she chose green, but her mother often encouraged her toward the blue. Regarding herself now, this colour did seem to have a different effect, set against her pale skin and dark hair. The neckline of the dress was a little lower than usual, and her neck felt bare.

It was not as if she had never done this before, but now all the details seemed to be so important, even if they had not been important in her mind before.

Turned her eyes upward, she saw a mild flush of pink on her cheeks, and inwardly chided herself for staying out in the sun too long earlier in the afternoon. But she had so enjoyed taking the guests on another tour of the city’s outskirts.

Doran had seemed quite pleased with the afternoon, something which Mírra realised had not affected her until now. There was that feeling in her chest again, as if her heart was not beating quite the way it should be. Would he be just as pleased with the evening?

“Oh, it will all be fine, I’m sure” the princess muttered quietly to herself, biting her lip as she turned her attention to her hair.

Just as she was smoothing careful fingers over the braids her mother had set earlier, Lúthea came into the chamber, followed by Arwen.

Excitement was evident on the younger princess’s face, and she was well dressed in a wine-coloured gown. Matching thread had been woven decoratively into her fine hair. The Queen herself was dressed in a simple, yet stunning silver-grey gown, befitting the anniversary being celebrated.

“Are you ready?” the younger girl asked her sister.

“I think so…” Mírra answered, fingering the end of a piece of hair.

“Ah, then perhaps you will not need what I brought with me,” said Arwen with a wink, holding out a flat wooden case.

All three moved over to the dressing table at the side of the room, where the Queen set down the case, her daughters looking on with quiet curiosity as she opened it.

Lúthea gasped gently as she saw the small collection of jewels that was revealed as her mother lifted the lid. “Are they for us?”

Arwen smiled. “Any of these that you two would like to wear tonight, you may,” she said softly.

The contents of the box were not the entire extent of the Queen’s collection by any means, but were her most personal, cherished pieces. Some of them she had kept since she was not much older than her daughters were now. Some were heirlooms, others were gifts. She removed the flat of the upper compartment, which contained mostly necklaces and bracelets, to reveal a few headpieces in the remainder of the case.

Lúthea reached over cautiously to run her fingers gently over a necklace of silver teardrop pendants, strung together on a thin chain.

“That would be a fine choice,” the Queen said appreciatively.

Arwen lifted the piece from its small velvet encasing, and as Lúthea held her hair out of the way, secured it around her daughter’s neck. The girl smiled brightly and stepped over to the mirror to verify her choice, her expression evidently showing her contentment.

“I must go and show ada,” Lúthea told her mother happily.

The Queen chuckled. “Alright, but do not be too long.” And with that, she was off.

The older princess had looked on quietly while Lúthea had selected her piece. Arwen watched Mírra look at the selection for a moment.

“Is there anything you would like to wear? A necklace perhaps?” she asked gently. “I only thought you might enjoy something special for tonight.”

Mírra’s hand immediately went to her bare neck. She had a necklace as birthday gift from her uncles, but since the chain had broken during her accident she had been reluctant to replace it with another piece.

“It is difficult to choose,” she murmured, poring over the contents.

The headpieces seemed so… well, regal. But Mírra’s eyes kept turning back to a thin silver circlet, with small flowers cut in emerald set at the front. She ran a fingertip over the shaped stones, catching her mother’s eye briefly.

“It would suit you very well,” Arwen said softly. She gave a little nod of encouragement. “Shall I help you with it?” Her daughter nodded in turn.

They both went to the mirror, and Mírra watched as her mother set the thin circlet on her forehead. It was not as heavy as she thought it would be. Almost unintentionally she found herself standing a little straighter, holding her head higher.

“My mother also had a preference for emeralds,” Arwen observed. “I am happy to see you wear this.” The princess was still quiet, watching her reflection. “Do you not like it?”

“Oh I do, naneth, very much.” Mírra turned to her mother, thoughtfulness in her expression. “I remember how I used be so shy of such things, but they do not change who I am, underneath them.”

“Some times the hardest part is making the outside reflect what is inside,” said Arwen softly. “But I think you accomplish that more often than you may think.”

The princess blushed.

“Whatever you wear,” continued the Queen, “it always looks better when worn with a smile.”

In response, Mírra could not prevent the corners of her mouth from pulling back in a warm smile, her blush increasing.

“It feels different with Eldarion gone. Being the oldest there, I feel as if all eyes will be on me.”

“Perhaps they will be, but I would not want you to dwell on that.” Arwen lifted a hand under her daughter’s chin. “I only wish for you to enjoy yourself.”

“Then I will.” She put her arms around her mother briefly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, darling.”

“But tonight is not for me, it is for you and father,” Mírra noted, facing Arwen again.

“I suppose you are right about that.” There was a glimmer in the Queen’s eyes.

“Then I too wish for you to enjoy yourself.”

Arwen chuckled again. “I will, without doubt.”

 

***

 

A few hours into the evening’s celebration, Mírra was slightly out of breath from dancing when she seated herself next to her father at the high table.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” the King told his daughter, as she kissed him happily on the cheek. Arwen looked on next to him, smiling.

“Very much,” she answered, “So much dancing, and such wonderful music.”

There had been no shortage of activity for the princess. In previous years she had been wary, but it had not been as hectic as she feared. One of the Citadel guards had even asked her for a turn across the floor.

“Was that the Lord Alacar I saw you with just now?” Arwen asked lightly. Aragorn had related to her his earlier conversation with the young lord’s father, but she had agreed with him not to press the issue with their daughter.

Mírra turned her eyes back to the dancing again, locating the tall, brown-haired young man from Annúminas. He was attractive enough, she supposed, but no more or less pleasant than any fine lord of the city. She had shared a waltz with Alacar, but soon spotted him in the crowd with a red-haired young lady in his arms.

“Oh. I was dancing with him, but it looks like he is happy with his new partner,” Mírra replied, seeming fairly unruffled.

Just as she reached to take a refreshing sip of her drink, Arwen quickly shared a reassuring glance with Aragorn, and said no more on the subject.

Lúthea came up then joined the other members of her family, with a familiar companion. Mírra greeted him with enthusiasm.

“Brennan, how good it is to see you well again!” He took the hand Mírra extended. “Your arm is quite healed?”

“Indeed, my lady,” he replied amiably, “I have had no complaints about my dancing abilities from your sister here. But I would be honoured with your company for a short turn, while the music is still lively?”

“I would be happy to join you.”

Brennan gave a courteous bow, and the pair joined the many other couples on the floor.

Mírra felt so very comfortable, caught up in the music as she stepped across the floor. Just short distance away, Mírra saw Doreth in Adair’s arms, a broad smile on her face as they danced. She would join them when the song concluded, she decided.

The evening was a clear success, Mírra decided, but still incomplete. The one person she truly wanted to dance with was the one person she could not find.

 

 

As the musicians finished their piece, the princess gave a curtsy to her partner, thanking Brennan for the dance, and went to join her friends while she had a moment.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” she asked as she found Doreth to give her a brief embrace.

“Oh indeed, Mírra, I could never have imagined such festivities!” The fair lady’s eyes sparkled to match her happy expression.

“I cannot remember the last time I was called upon to dance so much,” confided Adair, with a wink, “I fear I do my wife an injustice.”

“Nonsense, you have done marvellously, husband mine.” Doreth raised herself up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“I have not yet seen Doran,” Mírra observed, deliberately keeping her voice light. “Has he not taken part?”

Doreth smiled inwardly. “My brother has been here, but shied away from the dancing. I think he stepped out to one of the courtyards a moment ago, to take some air.”

The princess calmly took in this information. “Would he mind, do you think, if I asked him to return?”

Doreth’s reply was genuine. “I do not think he would mind at all.”

 

***

 

There were three main entrances to three sides of the Great Hall, each of which led out to a wide surrounding corridor, filled with artwork. From there one could find a few small courtyards.

It took only a few minutes for Mírra to locate the right one, but she hung back a moment before allowing him to see her.

Could it be that he found her attractive? There were some times, like tonight, when Mírra could go to court feeling entirely confident and comfortable, even as she felt all eyes upon her. Sometimes she thought men looked at her, but she always managed to put it down to circumstances, and not her own appearance.

This was different, though. Doran was different.

A few tiny stones scraped underneath her foot, the sound drawing his attention toward her.

Doran’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Each time he looked upon her anew, she seemed as a new person. Just this morning they had been riding, and now there were jewels in her hair, and her neck was bare. How beautifully pale her skin was.

“My lady,” he said, giving a short bow. Straightening, he seemed at a loss of what to say next. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

“You are not enjoying the celebration?” Her voice showed concern.

“It is wonderful, of course. I think I simply wanted some solitude, there are so very many people about.” He clasped his hands more comfortably behind his back. “Have you decided the same?”

He watched her shrug her shoulders slightly, a gesture that seemed more indicative of the young woman he first met, and less of the one that stood before him.

Still, there was some quality about her, perhaps the tone of her skin, or the slenderness of her limbs, that set her apart from any woman he had ever known. But then she met his eyes when she spoke… and then he knew he was at ease.

“I only came to find you. But I think if I go back, I will only have to dance with someone else, and now I wonder if I should take some rest.”

“We need not go back if you do not wish to.”

Mírra pursed her lips a moment in thought. “Will you walk with me?”

Doran needed no encouragement to accept such an offer. “I would be very pleased to escort you, my lady.”

They prepared to leave the courtyard to go back to the corridor, and the princess tucked one hand gently into the crook of his arm. Such contact was so formal, and yet it made her heart beat in just that irregular way again. It felt so secure to be next to him.

“Our visit to the White City has been quite an unexpected honour.”

Mírra looked up at Doran and smiled as she responded. “It is so strange to think that only a few months ago, I had not met all of you.”

Some how they had turned away from the entrance to the Great Hall, and found themselves alone at the end of the corridor, at the edge of a small foyer.

“Life does take unexpected turns, at times.”

“Indeed. The river was something I never could have predicted.”

“It must have been frightening for you, to have been caught so.”

Within seconds he regretted saying it. Doran saw her eyes shift down, and for the first time in their conversation she began to look uneasy.

“It… bothers me sometimes. To remember it, to remember the river.”

“I am very glad, that we were able to help,” he added, attempting a remedy. “When I think of how you looked when I came upon you… well, I was simply relieved to see you recover, is what I mean to say.”

A curious expression came over Mírra’s face just then. She paused in her step and let her hand slip from Doran’s arm, facing him.

“Do you still think of it?” she asked softly, “that day?”

“I think of it often.”

If it was at all unusual to be here, alone in the company of the King’s daughter, Doran no longer felt it. Else he would not likely have said the words he spoke next.

“It is impossible to forget the day, when such a lovely creature entered my life.”

A smile spread across Mírra’s lips. Perhaps there was something wrong with her head, or else her heart was pumping too fast, for she suddenly felt light, wonderfully light.

“Lovely?” she repeated in a whisper, as if searching for verification.

She could only feel herself reaching out, for what she did not know, but just as she extended her hand, Doran’s was there to meet it.

As they neared each other, her fingers momentarily traced the creases on his wide palm, before lacing together with his own fingers. With a curious smile that tweaked the corners of his mouth and eyes, Doran glanced down at their joined hands.

“I remember the touch of your hand, as you reached out when I spoke to you, and it was so very cold. I wanted only to take you to warmth and safety.”

“It could have been anyone, but it was you who found me.” She could feel her heart thundering in her chest. “How very glad I am, that you did.”

“Do you think of it too?” he spoke gently. The pressure of his fingers around hers was matched by the tenderness in his gaze.

“I remember… I remember your voice.”

He lifted his free hand and brushed the back of his fingers ever so lightly against her face.

“Your cheek,” he whispered, “it was so cold…”

Mírra tried to hold his gaze, but somehow the distance between them began to disappear, and she could sense only the shuddering rise and fall of her chest as she tried to keep her breathing steady, and the soft puff of his breath near her lips.

“Now, my heart feels very warm in your company, my lord.”

Then, there was no space left, as Doran put his lips to hers. Her skin under his fingers was just as smooth as he had imagined it.

She did not think, only responded and tilted her chin upwards to take greater hold of his mouth. Taking her hand from where it rested against his chest, she found his collar and grasped it gently, as if she might drift away without something to tether her.

Just as softly as the kiss had begun, their lips parted and they regarded each other with pleasant surprise.

Mírra would often wonder later, what would have happened next, if they had not been interrupted. But perhaps if she had heard her sister calling out down the hall, she might have been more cautious, might not have realised how close she still was to him, how near his lips still were to hers…

As it was, when Lúthea found them, they stood in such a fashion, eyes locked and hands clasped, Mírra clutching his collar and Doran stroking her face.

“Mírra? Naneth asks for you. Mírra, are you here – ” Lúthea stopped short. A hand rushed to her mouth as she gasped silently.

It was enough to shake them from their reverie. Doran withdrew abruptly, stepping away.

“No, wait – Doran – ” Mírra looked from her sister, who had immediately turned away, to Doran.

How could he have been so foolish as to forget who she was, forget all else but his own passion?

“I should not be with you, you should not be here.” He shook his head, releasing her hand at the last. “Forgive me, my lady.”

He turned as if in a daze. Mírra’s feet felt rooted to the floor as she watched him walk away.

“What was that? What happened?” Lúthea’s eyes were wide, but the hushed tone of her voice revealed more shock than surprise.

“Nothing. It was nothing.” Mírra said firmly, looking vaguely in the direction of the wall.

“But I saw you – ”

“It was nothing. Please, let us just go back?”

“Alright.” Lúthea looked quickly down at the floor.

They were both silent as they walked back to the Hall.

Mírra felt as if she had been shaken from some kind of strange reverie. It hadn’t been nothing. He had simply taken her hand in his and kissed her, but that moment between them had been so much more wonderful than nothing.


End file.
